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BLOOMS OF THE BERRY. 



THE 



TRIUMPH OF MUSIC 



OTHER LYRICS. 



JOHN P. MORTON & COMPANY, 

LOUISVILLE. 



/\©©OLON Of ©AUL 



WITH 



OTHER POEMS. 



Bv MADISON J. CAWEIN. 




LOUISVILLE. 
JOHN P. MORTON & COMPANY. 



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Copyrighted by 
MADISON J. C AWE IN. 



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Mith all my ^eatjt 

TO 

LILIAN AND ROSE. 



CONTENTS. 



Accolon of Gaul, I 

Der Freischutz, 65 

To Revery 82 

Late October, 85 

An Anemone, 88 

The Rain-Crow, 90 

Loveliness, 92 

The Last Scion of the House of Clare 95 

On the Jellico-Spur, 105 

Senorita, in 

Leander to Hero, 113 

Musagetes 116 

The Quarrel, 118 

The Mood o' the Earth, 119 

A Gray Day 122 

Carmen, 125 

Disenchantment of Death, 128 

The Three Urgandas, 131 

The Brush Sparrow, 135 



viii CONTENTS. 

Chords — 

I. Sleep while I sing to thee, 138 

II. Floats a wild chant of morning, . . . .139 

III. When love delays 141 

IV. Thou hast not loved her 143 

V. O Life, 144 

VI. If thou wouldst know the Beautiful, . . . 148 

VII. Then up the Orient heights 150 

VIII. Vanishing Visions, 152 

IX. As to a Nymph 154 

X. Ah! now the orchard's leaves are sear, . .157 

Dead and Gone, 158 

A Mabinogi, 159 

Genius Loci, 162 



ACCOLON OF GAUL. 

With triumphs gay of old romance. — K.EATS. 

PRELUDE. 

WHY, dreams from dreams in dreams remembered ! 
naught 
Save this, alas ! that once it seemed I thought 
I wandered dim with someone, but I knew 
Not who; most beautiful and good and true, 
Yet sad through suffering; with curl-crowned brow, 
Soft eyes and voice ; so white she haunts me now : — 
And when, and where? — At night in dreamland. 

She 
Led me athwart a flower-showered lea 
Where trammeled puckered pansy and the pea ; 
Spread stains of pale-red poppies rinced of rain, 
So gorged with sun their hurt hearts ached with pain ; 
Heaped honeysuckles ; roses lavishing beams, 
Wherein I knew were huddled little dreams 
Which laughed coy, hidden merriment and there 
Blew quick gay kisses fragrancing the air. 



2 AC COLON OF GAUL. 

And where a river bubbled through the sward 

A mist lay sleepily; and it was hard 

To see whence sprung it, to what seas it led, 

How broadly spread and what it was it fled 

So ceasless in its sighs, and bickering on 

Into romance or some bewildering dawn 

Of wisest legend from the storied wells 

Of lost Baranton, where old Merlin dwells, 

Nodding a white poll and a grand, gray beard 

As if some Lake Ladye" he, listening, heard, 

Who spake like water, danced like careful showers 

With blown gold curls thro' drifts of wild-thorn flowers ; 

Loose, lazy arms in graceful movement tossed, 

Float flower-like down a woodland vista, lost 

In some peculiar note that wrings a tear 

Slow down his withered cheek. And then steals near 

Her sweet, lascivious brow's white wonderment, 

And gray rude eyes, and hair which hath the scent 

Of the wildwood Breceliand's perfumes 

In Brittany ; and in it one red bloom's 

Blood-drop thrust deep, and so " Sweet Viviane !" 

All the glad leaves lisp like a young, soft rain 

From top to top, until a running surge 

The dark, witch-haunted solitude will urge, 

That shakes and sounds and stammers as from sleep 

Some giant were aroused ; and with a leap 



AC COLON OF GAUL. 

A samite-gauzy creature, glossy white, 

Showers mocking kisses fast and, like a light 

Beat by a gust to flutter and then done, 

From Breceliande and Merlin she is gone. 

But still he sits there drowsing with his dreams ; 

A wondrous cohort hath he ; many as gleams 

That stab the moted mazes of a beech ; 

And each grave dream hath its own magic speech 

To sting to tears his old eyes heavy — two 

Hang, tangled brilliants, in his beard like dew: 

And still faint murmurs of courts brave and fair, 

And forms of Arthur and proud Guenevere, 

Grave Tristram and rare Isoud and stout Mark, 

Bold Launcelot, chaste Galahad the dark 

Of his weak mind, once strong, glares up with, then, 

— The instant's fostered blossoms — die again. 

A roar of tournament, a rippling stir 

Of silken lists that ramble into her, 

That white witch-mothered beauty, Viviane, 

The vast Breceliande and dreams again. 

Then Dagonet, King Arthur's fool, trips there, 

A waggish cunning; glittering on his hair 

A tinsel crown; and then will slightly sway 

Thick leaves and part, and there Morgane the Fay 

With haughty wicked eyes and lovely face 

Studies him steady for a little space. 



A CCO L ON OF GAUL. 



I. 



Ur THOU askest with thy studious eyes again, 

J. Here where the restless forest hears the main 
Toss in a troubled sleep and moan. Ah, sweet, 
With joy and passion the kind hour's replete ; 
And what wild beauty here ! where roughly run 
Huge forest shadows from the westering sun, 
The wood's a subdued power gentle as 
Yon tame wild-things, that in the moss and grass 
Gaze with their human eyes. Here grow the lines 
Of pale-starred green ; and where yon fountain shines 
Urned in its tremulous ferns, rest we upon 
This oak-trunk of God's thunder overthrown 
Years, years agone ; not where 'tis rotted brown 
But where the thick bark \s firm and overgrown 
Of clambering ivy blackly berried ; where 
Wild musk of wood decay just tincts the air, 
As if some strange shrub on some whispering way, 
In some dewed dell, while dreaming of one May, 
In longing languor weakly tried to wake 
One sometime blossom and could only make 
Ghosts of such dead aromas as it knew, 
And shape a specter, budding thin as dew, 
To haunt these sounding miles of solitude. 



AC COLON OF GAUL. c 

Troubled thou askest, Morgane, and the mood, 

Unfathomed in thine eyes, glows rash and deep 

As that in some wild-woman's found on sleep 

By some lost knight upon a precipice, 

Whom he hath wakened with a laughing kiss. 

As that of some frail, elfin lady white 

As if of watery moonbeams, filmy dight, 

Who waves diaphanous beauty on some cliff 

That drowsing purrs with moon-drenched pines; but if 

The lone knight follow, foul fiends rise and drag 

Him crashing down, while she, tall on the crag, 

Triumphant mocks him with glad sorcery 

Till all the wildwood echoes shout with glee. 

As that bewildering mystery of a tarn, 

Some mountain water, which the mornings scorn 

To anadem with fire and leave gray ; 

To which some champion cometh when the Day 

Hath tired of breding on his proud, young head 

Flame-furry blooms and, golden chapleted, 

Sits rosy, trembling with full love for Night, 

Who cometh sandaled ; dark in crape ; the light 

Of her good eyes a marvel ; her vast hair 

Tortuous with stars, — as in some shadowy lair 

The eyes of hunted wild things burn with rage, — 

And on large bosoms doth his love assuage. 



6 ACCOLON OF GAUL. 

" He, coming thither in that haunted place, 

Stoops low to quaff cool waters, when his face 

Meets gurgling fairy faces in a ring 

That jostle upward babbling; beckoning 

Him deep to wonders secret built of old 

By some dim witch : ' A city walled with gold, 

With beryl battlements and paved with pearls, 

Slim, lambent towers wrought of foamy swirls 

Of alabaster, and that witch to love, 

More beautiful to love than queens above.' — 

He pauses troubled, but a wizard power, 

In all his bronzen harness that mad hour 

Plunges him — whither? what if he should miss 

Those cloudy beauties and that creature's kiss? 

Ah, Morgane, that same power Accolon 

Saw potent in thine eyes and it hath drawn 

Him deep to plunge — and to what breathless fate? — 

Bliss ? — which, too true, he hath well quaffed of late 

But, there ! — may come what stealthy-footed Death 

With bony claws to clutch away his breath ! 

And make him loveless to those eyes, alas ! — 

Fain must I speak that vision ; thus it was : 

" In sleep one plucked me some warm fleurs-de-lis, 
Larger than those of earth; and I might see 
Their woolly gold, loose, webby woven thro', — 



ACCOLON OF GAUL. 7 

Like fluffy flames spun, — gauzy with fine dew. 
And 'asphodels!' I murmured; then, 'these sure 
The Eden amaranths, so angel pure 
That these alone may pluck them ; aye and aye ! 
But with that giving, lo, she passed away 
Beyond me on some misty, yearning brook 
With some sweet song, which all the wild air took 
With torn farewells and pensive melody 
Touching to tears, strange, hopeless utterly. 
So merciless sweet that I yearned high to tear 
Those ingot-cored and gold-crowned lilies fair ; 
Yet over me a horror which restrained 
With melancholy presence of two pained 
And awful, mighty eyes that cowed and held 
Me weeping while that sad dirge died or swelled 
Far, far on endless waters borne away: 
A wild bird's musick smitten when the ray 
Of dawn it burned for graced its drooping head, 
And the pale glory strengthened round it dead ; 
Daggered of thorns it plunged on, blind in night, 
The slow blood ruby on its plumage white. 

" Then, then I knew these blooms which she had given 
Were strays of parting grief and waifs of Heaven 
For tears and memories ; too delicate 
For eyes of earth such souls immaculate ! 



8 ACCOLON OF GAUL. 

But then — my God ! my God ! thus these were left ! 

I knew then still ! but of that song bereft — 

That rapturous wonder grasping after grief — 

Beyond all thought — weak thought that would be thief." 

And bowed and wept into his hands and she 

Sorrowful beheld ; and resting at her knee 

Raised slow her oblong lute and smote its chords ; 

But ere the impulse saddened into words 

Said : " And didst love me as thy lips have spake 

No visions wrought of sleep might such love shake. 

Fast is all Love in fastness of his power, 

With flame reverberant moated stands his tower ; 

Not so built as to chink from fact a beam 

Of doubt and much less of a doubt from dream ; 

Such, the alchemic fires of Love's desires, 

Which hug this like a snake, melt to gold wires 

To chord the old lyre new whereon he lyres." 

So ceased and then, sad softness in her eye 

Sang to his dream a questioning reply: 

" Will love grow less when dead the roguish Spring, 
Who from gay eyes sowed violets whispering ; 
Peach petals in wild cheeks, wan-wasted thro' 
Of withering grief, laid lovely 'neath the dew, 
Will love grow less ? 

" Will love grow less when comes queen Summer tall, 
Her throat a lily long and spiritual; 
Rich as the poppied swaths— droned haunts of bees — 
Her cheeks, a brown maid's gleaning on the leas, 
Will love grow less ? 



AC COLON OF GAUL. 9 

"Will love grow less when Autumn sighing there 
Broods with long frost streaks in her dark, dark hair; 
Tears in grave eyes as in grave heavens above, 
Deep lost in memories' melancholy, love, 
Will love grow less ? 

" Will love grow less when Winter at the door 
Begs on her scant locks icicles as hoar ; 
While Death's eyes hollow o'er her shoulder dart 
A look to wring to tears then freeze the heart, 
Will love grow less?" 

And in her hair wept softly and her breast 

Rose and was wet with tears ; like as, distressed, 

Night steals on Day rain sobbing thro' her curls. 

'' Tho' tears become thee even as priceless pearls, 

Weep not for love's sake ! mine no gloom of doubt, 

But woe for sweet love's death such dreams brought out. 

Nay, nay; crowned, throned and flame-anointed he 

Kings our twin-kingdomed hearts eternally. 

Love, high in Heaven beginning and to cease 

No majesty when hearts are laid at peace ; 

But reign supreme, if souls have wrought as well, 

A god in Heaven or a god in Hell. 

Yea, Morgane, for the favor of his face 

All our rich world of love I will retrace : 

" Hurt in that battle where thy brother strove 
With those five kings thou wot'st of, dearest love, 



I0 A CCO L ON OF GAUL. 

Wherein the five were worsted, I was brought 

To some king's castle on my shield, methought, — 

Out of the grind of spears and roar of swords, 

From the loud shields of battle-bloody lords, 

Culled from the mountained slain where Havoc sprawled 

Gorged to her eyes with carnage, growling crawled; — 

By some tall damsels tiremaids of some queen 

Stately and dark, who moved as if a sheen 

Of starlight spread her presence ; and she came 

With healing herbs and searched my wounds. A dame 

So marvelous in raiment silvery 

I feared lest some attendant chaste were she 

To that high Holy Grael, which Arthur hath 

Sought ever widely by hoar wood and path ; — 

Thus not for me, a worldly one, to love, 

Who loved her even to wonder; skied above 

His worship as our moon above the Main, 

That passions upward yearning in great pain, 

And suffers wearily from year to year, 

She peaceful pitiless with virgin cheer. — 

Ah, ideal love, as merciless as fate ! 

And, oh, that savage aching which must wait 

For its fulfillment, tortured love in tears, 

Until that beauty dreamed of many years 

Bends over one from luminous skies, so grand 

One's weakness fears to touch its mastering hand, 



AC COLON OF GAUL. l 

And hesitates and stammers nothings weak, 

And loves and loves with love that can not speak ! 

Ah, there's the tyranny that breeds despair; 

Breaks hearts whose strong youth by one golden hair 

Coiled 'round the throat is sooner strangled dumb 

Than by a glancing dagger thrust from gloom 

Of an old arras at the very hour 

One thought one safest in one's guarded tower. — 

Thus, Morgane, worshiping that lady I 

Was speechless; longing now to live, now die, 

As her fine face suggested secrets of 

Some passion kin to mine, or scorn of love 

That dragged heroic humbleness to her feet, 

For one long look that spake and made such sweet. 

Ah, never dreamed I of what was to be, — 

Nay ! nay ! how could I ? while that agony 

Of doubtful love denied my heart too much, 

Too much to dream of that perfection such 

As was to grant me boisterous hours of life 

And sever all the past as with a knife ! 

" One night a tempest scourged and beat and lashed 
The writhing forest and vast thunders crashed 
Clamorous with clubs of leven, and anon, 
Between the thunder pauses, seas would groan 
Like some enormous curse a knight hath lured 



! 2 A CCOL ON OF GA UL. 

From where it soared to maim it with his sword. 
T, with eyes partly lidded, seemed to see 
That cloudy, wide-wrenched night's eternity 
Yawn hells of golden ghastliness ; and sweep 
Distending foams tempestuous up each steep 
Of furious iron, where pale mermaids sit 
With tangled hair black-blown, who, bit by bit, 
Chant glimmering; beckoning on to strangling arms 
Some hurt bark hurrying in the ravenous storm's 
Resistless exultation ; till there came 
One breaker mounting inward, all aflame 
With glow-worm green, to boom against the cliff 
Its thunderous bulk — and there, sucked pale and stiff, 
Tumbled in eddies up the howling rocks 
My dead, drawn face ; eyes lidless ; matted locks 
Oozed close with brine ; tossed upward merrily 
By streaming mermaids. — Madly seemed to see 
The vampire echoes of the hoarse wood, who, 
Collected, sought me ; down the casement drew 
Wet, shuddering fingers sharply ; thronging fast 
Up hooting turrets, fell thick screaming, cast 
Down bastioned battlements trooped whistling off; 
From the wild woodland growled a backward scoff. — 
Then far away, hoofs of a thousand gales, 
As wave rams wave up windy bluffs of Wales, 
Loosed from the groaning hills, the cohorts loud, 



AC COLON OF GAUL. 



13 



Spirits of thunder, charioteered of cloud, 
Roared down the rocking night cored with the glare 
Of fiery eyeballs swimming ; their drenched hair 
Blown black as rain unkempt back from black brows, 
Wide mouths of storm that voiced a hell carouse 
And bulged tight cheeks with wind, rolled riotous by 
Ruining to ruinous cliffs to headlong die. 

" Once when the lightning made the casement glare 

Squares touched to gold, between it rose her hair, 

As if a raven's wing had cut the storm 

Death-driven seaward ; and a vague alarm 

Stung me with terrors of surmise where hope 

As yet pruned weak wings crippled by their scope. 

And, lo, she kneeled low, radiant, wonderful, 

Lawn-raimented and white ; kneeled low, — ' to lull 

These thoughts of night such storms might shape in thee, 

All such to peace and sleep.' — Ah, God ! to see 

Her like a benediction fleshed ! with her 

Hearing her voice ! her cool hand wandering bare 

Wistful on feverish brow thro' long deep curls ! 

To see her rich throat's carcaneted pearls 

Rise as her pulses ! eyes' large influence 

Poured toward me straight as stars, whose sole defense 

Against all storm is their bold beauty ! then 

To feel her breathe and hear her speak again ! 



14 



AC COLON OF GAUL. 



' Love, mark,' I said or dreamed I moaned in dreams, 
' How wails the tumult and the thunder gleams ! 
As if of Arthur's knights had charged two fields 
Bright as sun-winds of dawn ; swords, spears and shields 
Flashed lordly shocked ; had, — to a man gone down 
In burst of battle hurled, — lain silent sown. 
Love, one eternal tempest thus with thee 
Were calm, dead calm ! but, no! — for thee in me 
Such calm proves tempest. Speak ; I feel thy voice 
Throb soft, caressing silence, healing noise.' 

"Is radiance loved of radiance? day of day? 

Lithe beam of beam and laughing ray of ray? 

Hope loved of hope and happiness of joy, 

Or love of love, who hath the world for toy? 

And thou — thou lov'st my voice ? fond Accolon ! 

Why not — yea, why not ? — nay ! — I prithee ! — groan 

Not for that thou hast had long since thine all.' 

She smiled ; and dashed down storm's black-crumbled 

Baptizing moonlight bathed her, foot and face [wall, 

Deluging, as my soul brake toward her grace 

With worship from despair and secret grief, 

That felt hot tears of heartsease sweet and brief. 

And one immortal night to me she said 

Words, lay I white in death had raised me red. 

' Rest now,' they were, ' I love thee with such love ! — 



AC COLON OF GAUL. 



15 



Some speak of secret love, but God above 

Hath knowledge and divinement.' . . . Passionate low, 

' To lie by thee to-night my mind is' : — So 

She laughed ; — ' Sleep well ! — for me ? why, thy fast word 

Of knighthood, look thou, and this naked sword 

Laid in betwixt us. . . . Let it be a wall 

Strong between love and lust and lov'st me all in all.' 

Undid the goodly gold from her clasped waist ; 

Unbound deep locks ; and, like a blossom faced, 

Stood sweet an unswayed stem that ran to bud 

In breasts and face a graceful womanhood. 

And fragrance was to her as natural 

As odor to the rose ; and she a tall, 

White ardor and white fervor in the room 

Moved, some pale presence that with light doth bloom. 

Then all mine eyes and lips and limbs were fire ; 

My tongue delirious throbbed a lawless lyre, 

That harped loud words of laud for loveliness, 

Inspired of such, but these I can not guess. 

Then she, as pure as snows of peaks that keep 

Sun-cloven crowns of virgin, vanquishing steep, 

Frowned on me, and the thoughts, that in my brain 

Had risen a glare of gems, set dull like rain, 

And fair I spake her and with civil pain : 

"'Thine, sweet, a devil's kindness which is given 
For earthly pleasure but bars out from Heaven. 



!6 AC COLON OF GAUL. 

Temptation harbored, like a bloody rust 

On a bright blade, leaves ugly stains ; and lust 

Is love's undoing when love's limbs are cast 

A commonness to desire that makes unchaste ; 

And this warm nearness of what should be hid 

Makes love a lawless love. But, thou hast bid; — 

Rest thou ; I love thee, how, — I only know : 

But all that love shall shout "out!" at love's foe.' 

And turning sighed into my hair; and she 

Stretched the broad blade's division suddenly. 

And so we lay its fire between us twain ; 

Unsleeping I, for, oh, that devil pain 

Of passion in me that strove up and stood 

A rebel wrangling with the brain and blood ! 

An hour stole by : she slept or seemed to sleep. 

The winds of night came vigorous from the deep 

With storm gusts of fresh-watered field and wold 

That breathed of ocean meadows bluely rolled. 

I drowsed and time passed ; stealing as for one 

Whose drowsy life dreams in Avilion. 

Vast bulks of black, wind-shattered rack went down 

High casement squares of heaven, a crystal crown 

Of bubbled moonlight on each monstrous head, 

Like as great ghosts of giant kings long dead. 

And then, meseemed, she lightly laughed and sighed, 

So soft a taper had not bent aside, 



AC COLON OF GAUL. 

And leaned a soft face seen thro' loosened hair 

Above me, whisp'ring as if sweet in prayer, 

'Behold, the sword ! I take the sword away !' 

It curved and clashed where the strewn rushes lay ; 

Shone glassy, glittering like a watery beam 

Of moonlight in the moonlight. I did deem 

She moved in sleep and dreamed perverse, nor wist 

That which she did until two fierce lips kissed 

My wondering eyes to wakement of her thought. 

Then spake I, 'Love, my word ! is it then naught? 

Nay, nay, my word albeit the sword be gone ! — 

And wouldst thou try me? rest thou safe till dawn ! 

I will not thus forswear! my word stands fast!' 

But now I felt hot, desperate kisses cast 

On hair, eyes, throat and lips and over and over, 

Low laughter of ' Sweet wretch ! and thou — a lover? 

What is that word if she thou gavest it 

Unbind thee of it? lo, and she sees fit!' 

Ah, Morgane, Morgane, then I knew 'twas thou, 

Thou! thou! who only could such joy allow." 

"And, oh, unburied passion of that night; 
The sleepy birds too early piped of light; 
Too soon came Light girt with a rosy breeze, 
Strong from his bath, to wrestle with the trees, 
A thewy hero ; and, alas ! too soon 



i7 



T 8 ACCOLON OF GAUL. 

Our scutcheoned oriel stained was overstrewn 
Of Dawn's air-jewels; then I sang a strain 
Of sleep that in my memory strives again : 

" Ethereal limbed the lovely Sleep should sit, 

Her starbeam locks with some vague splendor lit, 

Like that the glow-worm's emerald radiance sheds 

Thro' twilight dew-drops globed on lily-beds. 

Her face as fair as if of graven stone, 

Yet dim and airy as a cloud alone 

In the bare blue of Heaven, smiling sweet, 

For languorous thoughts of love that flit and fleet 

Short-rainbow-winged about her crumpled hair; 

Yet on her brow a pensiveness more fair, 

Ungraspable and sad and lost, I wist, 

Than thoughts of maiden whom her love hath kissed, 

Who knows, thro' deepening eyes and drowsy breath, 

Him weeping bent whiles she drifts on to death. 

Full sweet and sorrowful and blithe withal 

Should be her brow ; not wholly spiritual, 

But tinged with mortal for the mortal mind, 

And smote with flushings from some Eden wind ; 

Hinting at heart's ease and a god's desire 

Of pleasure hastening in a garb of fire 

From some dim country over storied seas 

Glassed of content and foamed of mysteries. 



ACCOLON OF GAUL. 

Her ears two sea-pearls' morning-tender pink, 

And strung to harkening as if on a brink 

Night with profundity of death and doubt, 

Yet touched with awfulness of light poured out. 

Ears strung to palpitations of heart throbs 

As sea-shells waver with dim ocean sobs. 

One hand, curved like a mist on dusking skies, 

Hollowing smooth brows to shade dark velvet eyes,- 

Dark-lashed and dewed of tear-drops beautiful, — 

To sound the cowering conscience of the dull, 

Sleep-sodden features in their human rest, 

Ere she dare trust her pureness to that breast. 

Large limbs diaphanous and fleeced with veil 

Of wimpled heat, wove of the pulsing pale 

Of rosy midnight, and stained thro' with stars 

In golden cores; clusters of quivering bars 

Of nebulous gold, twined round her fleecily. 

A lucid shape vague in vague mystery. 

Untrammeled bosoms swelling free and white 

And prodigal of balm ; cupped lilies bright, 

That to the famished mind yield their pure, best, 

Voluptuous sleep like honey sucked in rest." 

Thus they communed. And there her castle stood 
With slender towers ivied o'er the wood ; 
An ancient chapel creeper-buried near; 



*9 



20 ACCOLQN OF GAUL. 

A forest vista, where faint herds of deer 

Stalked like soft shadows ; where the hares did run, 

Mavis and throstle caroled in the sun. 

For it was Morgane's realm, embowered Gore ; 

That rooky pile her palace whence she bore 

With Urience sway ; but he at Camelot 

Knew naught of intrigues here at Chariot. 



II. 



NOON ; and the wistful Autumn sat among 
The lurid woodlands ; chiefs who now were wrung 
By crafty ministers, sun, wind and frost, 
To don imperial pomp at any cost. 
On each wild hill they stood as if for war 
Flaunting barbaric raiment wide and far; 
And burnt-out lusts in aged faces raged ; 
Their tottering state by flattering zephyrs paged, 
Who in a little fretful while, how soon ! 
Would work rebellion under some wan moon ; 
Pluck their old beards deriding; shriek and tear 
Rich royalty ; sow tattered through the air 
Their purple majesty; and from each head 
Dash down its golden crown, and in its stead 
Set there a pale-death mockery of snow, 
Leave them bemoaning beggars bowed with woe. 



ACCOLON OF GAUL. 21 

Blow, wood-wind, blow ! now that all 's fresh and fine 

As earth and wood can make it ; fresh as brine 

And rare with sodden scents of underbrush. 

Ring, and one hears a cavalcade a-rush ; 

Bold blare of horns; shrill music of steel bows; — 

A horn ! a horn ! the hunt is up and goes 

Beneath the acorn-dropping oaks in green, — 

Dark woodland green, a boar-spear held between 

His selle and hunter's head, and at his thigh 

A good, broad hanger, and one fist on high 

To wind the rapid echoes from his horn, 

That start the field birds from the sheaved corn, 

Uphurled in vollies of audacious wings, 

That cease again when it no longer sings. 

Away, away, they flash a belted band 

From Camelot thro' that haze-ghostly land ; 

Hounds leashed and learners and a flash of steel, 

A tramp of horse and the long-baying peal 

Of stag hounds whimp'ring and — behold! the hart, 

A lordly height, doth from the covert dart ; 

And the big blood-hounds strain unto the chase. 

A-hunt! a-hunt! the pryce seems but a pace 

On ere 'tis wound; but now, where interlace 

The dense-briered underwoods, the hounds have lost 

The slot, there where a forest brook hath crossed 

With intercepting waters full of leaves. 



22 AC COLON OF GAUL. 

Beyond, the hart a tangled labyrinth weaves 

Thro' dimmer boscage, and the wizard sun 

Shapes many shadowy stags that seem to run 

Wild herds before the baffled foresters. 

And treed aloft a reckless laugh one hears, 

As if some helping goblin from the trees 

Mocked them the unbayed hart and made a breeze 

His pursuivant of mocking. Hastening thence 

Pursued King Arthur and King Urience 

With one small brachet, till scarce hear could they 

Their fellowship far-furthered course away 

On fresher trace of hind or rugged boar 

With haggard, hairy flanks, curled tusks and hoar 

With fierce foam-fury ; and of these bereft 

The kings continued in the slot they'd left. 

And there the hart plunged gallant thro' the brake 

Leaving a torn path shaking in his wake, 

Down which they followed on thro' many a copse 

Above whose brush, close on before, the tops 

Of the large antlers swelled anon, and so 

Were gone where beat the brambles to and fro. 

And still they drave him hard ; and ever near 

Seemed that great hart unwearied ; and such cheer 

Still stung them to the chase. When Arthur's horse 

Gasped mightily and lunging in his course 

Lay dead, a lordly bay ; and Urience 



ACCOLON OF GAUL. 23 

Left his gray hunter dying near; and thence 
They held the hunt afoot; when suddenly 
Were they aware of a wide, roughened sea, 
And near the wood the hart upon the sward 
Bayed, panting unto death and winded hard. 
Right so the king dispatched him and the pryce 
Wound on his hunting bugle clearly thrice. 

As if each echo, which that wild horn's blast 

Waked from its sleep, — the quietude had cast 

Tender as mercy on it, — in a band 

Rose moving sounds of gladness hand in hand, 

Came twelve fair damsels, sunny in sovereign white, 

From that red woodland gliding. These each knight 

Graced with obeisance and " Our lord," said one, 

"Tenders ye courtesy until the dawn; 

The Earl Sir Damas ; well in his wide keep, 

Seen thither with due worship, ye shall sleep." 

And then they came o'erwearied to a hall, 

An owlet-haunted pile, whose weedy wall 

Towered based on crags rough, windy turrets high ; 

An old, gaunt giant-castle 'gainst a sky 

Wherein the moon hung foam-faced, large and full. 

Down on dank sea-foundations broke the dull, 

Weird monotone of ocean, and wide rolled 

The watery wilderness that was as old 



24 



ACCOLON OF GAUL. 



As loud, defying headlands stretching out 
Beneath still stars with a voluminous shout 
Of wreck and wrath forever. Here the two 
Were feasted fairly and with worship due 
All errant knights ; and then a damsel led 
Each knight with flaring lamp unto his bed 
Down separate corridores of that great keep ; 
And soon they rested in a heavy sleep. 

And then King Arthur woke, and woke mid groans 

Of dolorous knights ; and 'round him lay the bones 

Of many woful champions mouldering; 

And he could hear the open ocean ring 

Wild wasted waves above. And so he thought 

" It is some nightmare weighing me, distraught 

By that long hunt ;" and then he sought to shake 

The horror off and to himself awake; 

But still he heard sad groans and whispering sighs, 

And deep in iron-ribbed cells the eyes 

Of pale, cadaverous knights shone fixed on him 

Unhappy ; and he felt his senses swim 

With foulness of that cell, and, " What are ye? 

Ghosts of chained champions or a company 

Of phantoms, bodiless fiends ? If speak ye can, 

Speak, in God's name ! for I am here — a man !" 

Then groaned the shaggy throat of one who lay 



AC COLON OF GAUL. 



25 



A dusky nightmare dying day by day, 

Yet once of comely mien and strong withal 

And greatly gracious ; but, now hunger-tall, 

With scrawny beard and faded hands and cheeks : 

" Sir knight," said he, " know that the wretch who speaks 

Is but an one of twenty knights here shamed 

Of him who lords this castle, Damas named, 

Who mews us here for slow starvation keen ; 

Around you fade the bones of some eighteen 

Tried knights of Britain ; and God grant that soon 

My hunger-lengthened ghost will see the moon, 

Beyond the vileness of this prisonment !" 

With that he sighed and round the dungeon went 

A rustling sigh, like saddened sin, and so 

Another dim, thin voice complained their woe : — 

" He doth enchain us with this common end, 
That he find one who will his prowess bend 
To the attainment of his livelihood. 
A younger brother, Ontzlake, hath he ; good 
And courteous, withal most noble, whom 
This Damas hates — yea, ever seeks his doom ; 
Denying him to their estate all right 
Save that he holds by main of arms and might. 
And thro' puissance hath he some fat fields 
And one rich manor sumptuous, where he yields 

3 



26 AC COLON OF GAUL. 

Belated knights host's hospitality. 

Then bold is Ontzlake, Damas cowardly. 

For Ontzlake would decide by sword and lance 

Body for body this inheritance; 

But Damas dotes on life so courageless; 

Thus on all knights perforce lays coward's stress 

To fight for him or starve. For ye must know 

That in his country he is hated so 

That no helm here is who will take the fight ; 

Thus fortunes it our plight is such a plight." 

Quoth he and ceased. And wondering at the tale 

The King was thoughtful, and each faded, pale, 

Poor countenance still conned him when he spake : 

"And what reward if one this battle take?" 

" Deliverance for all if of us one 

Consent to be his party's champion. 

But treachery and he are so close kin 

We loathe the part as some misshapen sin, 

And here would rather dally on to death 

Than serving falseness save and slave our breath." 

"May God deliver you for mercy, sirs!" 

And right anon an iron noise he hears 

Of chains clanked loose and bars jarred rusty back, 

The heavy gate croak open ; and the black 

Of that rank cell astonished was with light, 



AC COLON OF GAUL. 27 

That danced fantastic with the frantic night. 
One high torch sidewise worried by the gust 
Sunned that lorn den of hunger, death and rust, 
And one tall damsel vaguely vestured, fair 
With shadowy hair, poised on the rocky stair. 
And laughing on the King, "What cheer?" said she; 
" God's life ! the keep stinks vilely ! and to see 
So noble knights endungeoned hollowing here 
Doth pain me sore with pity — but, what cheer?" 

"Thou mockest us; for me the sorriest 

Since I was suckled; and of any quest 

To me the most imperiling and strange. — 

But what wouldst thou ?" said Arthur. She, " A change 

I offer thee, through thee to these with thee, 

And thou but grant me in love's courtesy 

To fight for Damas and his livelihood. 

And if thou wilt not — look ! thou seest this brood 

Of lean and dwindled bellies specter-eyed, 

Keen knights erst who refused me ? — so decide." 

Then thought the King of the sweet sky, the breeze 

That blew delirious over waves and trees ; 

Thick fields of grasses and the sunny earth 

Whose beating heat filled the red heart with mirth, 

And made the world one sovereign pleasure house 

Where king and serf might revel and carouse ; 



28 AC COLON OF GAUL. 

Then of the hunt on autumn-plaintive hills ; 

Lone forest chapels by their radiant rills : 

His palace rich at Caerlleon upon Usk, 

And Camelot's loud halls that thro' the dusk 

Blazed far and bloomed a rose of revelry ; 

Or in the misty morning shadowy 

Loomed grave for audience. And then he thought 

Of his Round Table and that Grael wide sought 

In haunted holds on demon-sinful shore; 

Then marveled of what wars would rise and roar 

With dragon heads unconquered and devour 

This realm of Britain and pluck up that flower 

Of chivalry whence ripened his renown : 

And then the reign of some besotted crown, 

A bandit king of lust, idolatry — 

And with that thought for tears he could not see: 

Then of his greatest champions, King Ban's son, 

And Galahad and Tristram, Accolon : 

And then, ah God ! of his dear Guenevere, 

And with that thought — to starve and moulder here?- 

For, being unfriend to Arthur and his court, 

Well wist he this grim Earl would bless that sport 

Of fortune which had fortuned him so well 

To have to starve his sovereign in a cell. — 

In the entombing rock where ground the deep ; 

And all the life shut in his limbs did leap 



AC COLON OF GAUL. 

Thro' eager veins and sinews fierce and red, 
Stung on to action, and he rose and said : 
"That which thou askest is right hard, but, lo ! 
To rot here harder ; I will fight his foe. 
But, mark, I have no weapons and no mail, 
No steed against that other to avail." 

" Fear not for that; and thou shalt lack none, sire." 
And so she led the path : her torch's fire 
Scaring wild spidery shadows at each stride 
From cob-webbed coignes of scowling passes wide, 
That labyrinthed the rock foundation strong 
Of that ungainly fortress bleak of wrong. 
At length they came to a nail-studded door, 
Which she unlocked with one harsh key she bore 
Mid many keys bunched at her girdle ; thence 
They issued on a terraced eminence. 
Beneath the sea broke sounding ; and the King 
Breathed open air that had the smell and sting 
Of brine morn-vigored and blue-billowed foam ; 
For in the East the second dawning's gloam, 
Since that unlucky chase, was freaked with streaks 
Red as the ripe stripes of an apple's cheeks. 
And so within that larger light of dawn 
It seemed to Arthur now that he had known 
This maiden at his court, and so he asked. 



29 



3 o ACCOLON OF GAUL. 

But she, well-tutored, her real person masked, 

And answered falsely ; " Nay, deceive thee not ; 

Thou saw'st me ne'er at Arthur's court, I wot. 

For here it likes me best to sing and spin 

And work the hangings my sire's halls within : 

No courts or tournaments or gallants brave 

To flatter me and love ! for me — the wave, 

The forest, field and sky ; the calm, the storm ; 

My garth wherein I walk to think ; the charm 

Of uplands redolent at bounteous noon 

And full of sunlight; night's free stars and moon; 

White ships that pass some several every year; 

These lonesome towers and those wild mews to hear." 

"An owlet maid !" the King laughed. But, untrue 

Was she, and of false Morgane's treasonous crew, 

Who worked vile wiles ev'n to the slaying of 

The King, half-brother, whom she did not love. 

And presently she brought him where in state 

This swarthy Damas with mailed cowards sate. . . 

King Urience that dawning woke and found 
Himself safe couched at Camelot and wound 
In Morgane's arms ; nor weened he how it was 
That this thing secretly had come to pass. 
But Accolon at Chariot sojourned still 
Content with his own dreams ; for 'twas the will 



AC COLON OF GAUL. 

Of Morgane thus to keep him hidden here 

For her desire's excess, where everywhere 

In Gore by wood and river pleasure houses, 

Pavilions, rose of rock for love carouses; 

And there in one, where 'twas her dearest wont 

To list a tinkling, falling water fount, — 

Which thro' sweet talks of idle paramours 

At sensuous ease on tumbled beds of flowers, 

Had caught a laughing language light thereof, 

And rambled ever gently whispering, "love!" — 

On cool white walls her hands had deftly draped 

A dark rich hanging, where were worked and shaped 

Her fullest hours of pleasure flesh and mind, 

Imperishable passions, which could wind 

The past and present quickly; and could mate 

Dead loves to kisses, and intoxicate 

With moon-soft words of past delight and song 

The heavy heart that wronged forgot the wrong. 

And there beside it pooled the urned well, 

And slipping thence thro' dripping shadows fell 

From rippling rock to rock. Here Accolon, 

With Morgane's hollow lute, one studious dawn 

Came solely ; with not ev'n her brindled hound 

To leap beside him o'er the gleaming ground; 

No handmaid lovely of his loveliest fair, 

Or paging dwarf in purple with him there ; 



3i 



32 



ACCOLON OF GAUL. 



But this her lute, about which her perfume 

Clung odorous of memories, that made bloom 

Her flowing features rosy to his eyes, 

That saw the words, his sense could but surmise, 

Shaped on dim, breathing lips ; the laugh that drunk 

Her deep soul-fire from eyes wherein it sunk 

And slowly waned away to smouldering dreams, 

Fathomless with thought, far in their dove-gray gleams. 

And so for those most serious eyes and lips, 

Faint, filmy features, all the music slips 

Of buoyant being bubbling to his voice 

To chant her praises ; and with nervous poise 

His fleet, trained fingers call from her long lute 

Such riotous notes as must make madly mute 

The nightingale that listens quivering. 

And well he knows that winging hence it'll sing 

These aching notes, whose beauties burn and pain 

Its anguished heart now sobless, not in vain 

Wild 'neath her casement in that garden old 

Dingled with heavy roses ; in the gold 

Of Camelot's stars and pearl-encrusted moon ; 

And if it dies, the heartache of the tune 

Shall clamor stormy passion at her ear, 

Of death more dear than life if love be there ; 

Melt her quick eyes to tears, her throat to sobs 

Tumultuous heaved, while separation throbs 



ACCOLON OF GAUL. 33 

Hard at her heart, and longing rears to Death 

Two prayerful eyes of pleading " for one breath — 

An ardor of fierce life — crushed in his arms 

Close, close ! and, oh, for such, all these smooth charms, 

Full, sentient charms voluptuous evermore !" 

And sweet to know these sensitive vows shall soar 

Ev'n to the dull ear of her drowsy lord 

Beside her; heart-defying with each word 

Harped in the bird's voice rhythmically clear. 

And thus he sang to her who was not there : 

" She comes ! her presence, like a moving song 
Breathed soft of loveliest lips and lute-like tongue, 
Sways all the gurgling forests from their rest : 
I fancy where her rustling foot is pressed, 
So faltering, love seems timid, but how strong 
That darling love that nutters in her breast ! 

" She comes ! and the green vistas are stormed thro' — 
As if wild wings, wet-varnished with dripped dew, 
Had dashed a sudden sunbeam tempest past, 
— With her eyes' inspiration clearly chaste ; 
A rhythmic lavishment of bright gray blue, 
Long arrows of her eyes perfection cast. 

"Ah, God! she comes! and, Love, I feel thy breath, 

Like the soft South who idly wandereth 
Thro' musical leaves of laughing laziness, 
Page on before her, how sweet — none can guess! 

To say my soul ' Here 's harmony dear as death 
To sigh wild vows, or utterless, to bless.' 



K 



34 AC COLON OF GAUL. 

" She comes ! ah, God ! and all my brain is brave 

To war for words to laud her and to lave 
Her queenly beauty in such vows whereof 
May hush melodious cooings of a dove : 

For her light feet the favored path to pave 
With oaths, like roses, raving mad with love. 

" She comes ! in me a passion — as the moon 
Works madness in strong men — my blood doth swoon 
Towards her glory; and I feel her soul 
Cling lip to lip with mine ; and now the whole 
Mix with me, aching like a tender tune 
Exhausted ; lavished in a god's control. 

" She comes ! ah, Christ ! ye eager stars that grace 
The fragmentary skies, that dimple space, 

Clink, and I hear her harp-sweet footfalls come: 
Ah, wood-indulging, violet-vague perfume, 
Art of her presence, of her wild-flower face, 
That like some gracious blossom stains the gloom ? 

" Oh, living exultation of the blood! 

That now — as sunbursts, the almighty mood 

Of some moved god, scatter the storm that roars, 
And hush — her love like some spent splendor pours 

Into it all immaculate maidenhood, 

And all the heart that hesitates — adores. 

" Vanquished ! so vanquished ! — ah, triumphant sweet ! 

The height of heaven — supine at thy feet! 

Where love feasts crowned, and basks in such a glare 
As hearts of suns burn, in thine eyes and hair, 

Unutterable with raveled fires that cheat 
The ardent clay of me and make me air. 



ACCOLON OF GAUL. 35 

" And so, rare witch, thy blood, like some lewd wine, 
Shall subtly make me, like thee, half divine ; 

And, — sweet rebellion ! — clasp thee till thou urge 
To combat close of savage kisses : surge 
A war that rubies all thy proud cheeks' shine, — 
Slain, struggling blushes, — till white truce emerge. 

" My life for thine, thus bartered lip to lip ! 
A striving being pulsant, that shall slip 

Like song and flame in sense from thee to me ; 

Nor held, but quick rebartered thence to thee : 
So our two loves be as a singleship, 

Ten thousand loves as one eternally." 



Babbled the woodland like a rocky brook ; 

And as the ecstacy of foliage shook, 

Hot pieces of bright, sunny heavens glanced 

Like polished silver thro' pale leaves that danced. 

As one hath seen some green-gowned huntress fair, 

Morn in her cheeks and midnight in her hair, 

Eyes clear as hollow dews; clean limbs as lithe 

As limbs swift morning moves ; a voice as blithe 

As high hawk's ringing thro' the falling dews ; 

Pant thro' the bramble-matted avenues,— [green, 

Where brier and thorn have gashed her gown's pinched 

About bright breasts and arms, the milky sheen 

Of white skin healthy pouting out; her face, 

Ardent and flushed, fixed on the lordly chase. 



36 ACCOLON OF GAUL. 



III. 



THE eve now came; and shadows cowled the way- 
Like somber palmers, who have kneeled to pray 
Beside a wayside shrine, and rosy rolled 
Up the capacious West a grainy gold, 
Luxuriant fluid, burned thro' strong, keen skies, 
Which seemed as towering gates of Paradise 
Surged dim, far glories on the hungry gaze. 
And from that sunset down the roseate ways, 
To Accolon, who with his idle lute, 
Reclined in revery against a root 
Of a great oak, a fragment of that West, 
A dwarf, in crimson satin tightly dressed, 
Skipped like a leaf the rather frosts have burned 
And cozened to a fever red, that turned 
And withered all its sap. And this one came 
From Camelot ; from his beloved dame, 
Morgane the Fay. He on his shoulder bore 
A burning blade wrought strange with wizard lore, 
Runed mystically ; and a scabbard which 
Glared venomous, with angry jewels rich. 
He, louting to the knight, "Sir knight," said he, 
" Your lady with all sweetest courtesy 
Assures you — ah, unworthy messenger 



A CCO LO IV OF GAUL. 



37 



I of such brightness! — of that love of her." 

Then doffing that great baldric, with the sword 

To him he gave: "And this from him, my lord 

King Arthur; even his Excalibur, 

The sovereign blade, which Merlin gat of her, 

The Ladye of the Lake, who Launcelot 

Fostered from infanthood, as well you wot, 

In some wierd mere in Briogn's tangled lands 

Of charms and mist; where filmy fairy bands 

By lazy moons of Autumn spin their fill 

Oi giddy morrice on the frosty hill. 

By goodness of her favor this is sent ; 

Who craved King Arthur boon with this intent : 

That soon for her a desperate combat one 

With one of mightier prowess were begun ; 

And with the sword Excalibur right sure 

Were she against that champion to endure. 

The blade flame-trenchant, but more prize the sheath 

Which stauncheth blood and guardeth from all death." 

He said : and Accolon looked on the sword, 

A mystic falchion, and, " It shall wend hard 

With him thro' thee, unconquerable blade, 

Whoe'er he be, who on my Queen hath laid 

Stress of unworship : and the hours as slow 

As palsied hours in Purgatory go 

For those unmassed, till I have slain this foe ! 



3 8 ACCOLON OF GAUL. 

My purse, sweet page ; and now — to her who gave, 

Dispatch ! and this : — to all commands — her slave, 

To death obedient. In love or war 

Her love to make me all the warrior. 

Plead her grace mercy for so long delay 

From love that dies an hourly death each day 

Till her white hands kissed he shall kiss her face, 

By which his life breathes in continual grace." 

Thus he commanded ; and incontinent 

The dwarf departed like a red ray sent 

From rich down-flowering clouds of suffused light 

Winged o'er long, purple glooms ; and with the night, 

Whose votaress cypress stoled the dying strife 

Softly of day, and for whose perished life 

Gave heaven her golden stars, in dreamy thought 

Wends Accolon to hazy Chariot. 

And it befell him wandering one dawn, 

As was his wont, across a dew-drenched lawn, 

Glad with night freshness and elastic health 

In sky and earth, that lavished worlds of wealth 

From heady breeze and racy smells, a knight 

And lofty lady met he ; gay bedight, 

With following of six esquires; and they 

Held on straight wrists the jess'd gerfalcon gray, 

And rode a-hawking o'er the leas of Gore 



AC COLON OF GAUL. 

From Ontzlake's manor, where he languished ; sore 

Hurt in the lists, a spear thrust in his thigh : 

Who had besought — for much he feared to die — 

This knight and his fair lady, as they rode 

To hawk near Chariot, the Queen's abode, 

That they would pray her in all charity 

Fare post to him, — for in chirurgery 

Of all that land she was the greatest leach, — 

And her to his recovery beseech. 

So, Accolon saluted, they drew rein, 

And spake their message, — for right over fain 

Were they toward their sport, — that he might bare 

Petition to that lady. But, not there 

Was Arthur's sister, as they well must wot; 

But now a se'nnight lay at Camelot, 

Of Guenevere the guest; and there with her 

Four other queens of farther Britain were : 

Isoud of Ireland, she of Cornwall Queen, 

King Mark's wife ; who right rarely then was seen 

At court for jealousy of Mark, who knew 

Her to that lance of Lyonesse how true 

Since mutual quaffing of a philter; while 

How guilty Guenevere on such could smile : 

She of Northgales and she of Eastland : and 

She of the Out Isles Queen. A fairer band 

For sovereignty and love and loveliness 



39 



4° 



AC COLON OF GAUL. 



Was not in any realm to grace and bless. 

Then quoth the knight, "Ay? see how fortune turns 

And varies like an April day, that burns 

Now welkins blue with calm, now scowls them down, 

Revengeful, with a black storm's wrinkled frown. 

For, look, this Damas, who so long hath lain 

A hiding vermin, fearful of all pain, 

Dark in his bandit towers by the deep, 

Wakes from a five years' torpor and a sleep ; 

So sends dispatch a courier to my lord 

With, ' Lo ! behold ! to-morrow with the sword 

Earl Damas by his knight at point of lance 

Decides the issue of inheritance, 

Body to body, or by champion.' 

Right hard to find such ere to-morrow dawn. 

Though sore bestead lies Ontzlake, and he could, 

Right fain were he to save his livelihood. 

Then mused Sir Accolon : " The adventure goes 

Ev'n as my Lady fashioneth ; who knows 

But what her arts develop this and make ?" 

And thus to those : " His battle I will take, — 

And he be so conditioned, harried of 

Estate and life, — in knighthood and for love. 

Conduct me thither." 

And, gramercied, then 
Mounted a void horse of that wondering train, 



ACCOLON OF GAUL. 

And thence departed with two squires. And they 

Came to a lone, dismantled priory 

Hard by a castle gray on whose square towers, 

Machicolated, o'er the forest's bowers, 

The immemorial morning bloomed and blushed. 

A woodland manor olden, dark embushed 

In wild and woody hills. And then one wound 

An echoy horn, and with the boundless sound 

The drawbridge rumbled moatward clanking, and 

Into a paved court passed that little band. . . . 

When all the world was morning, gleam and glare 
Of far deluging glory, and the air 
Sang with the wood-bird, like a humming lyre 
Swept bold of minstrel fingers wire on wire ; 
Ere that fixed hour of prime came Arthur armed 
For battle royally. A black steed warmed 
A fierce impatience 'neath him cased in mail, 
Huge, foreign ; and accoutered head to tail 
In costly sendal ; rearward wine-dark red, 
Amber as sunlight to his fretful head. 
Firm, heavy armor blue had Arthur on 
Beneath a robe of honor, like the dawn, 
Satin and diapered and purflewed deep 
With lordly golden purple; whence did sweep 
Two hanging acorn tuftings of fine gold, 

4 



41 



42 ACCOLON OF GAUL. 

And at his thigh a falchion, long and bold, 

Heavy and triple-edged ; its scabbard, red 

Cordovan leather ; thence a baldric led 

Of new cut deer-skin ; this laborious wrought, 

And curiously with slides of gold was fraught, 

And buckled with a buckle white that shone, 

Bone of the sea-horse, tongued with jet-black bone. 

And, sapphire-set, a burgonet of gold 

Barbaric, wyvern-crested whose throat rolled 

A flame-sharp tongue of agate, and whose eyes 

Glowed venomous great rubies fierce of prize. 

And in his hand a wiry lance of ash, 

Lattened with finest silver, like a flash 

Of sunlight in the morning shone a-gash. 

Clad was his squire most richly ; he whose head 

Curled with close locks of yellow tinged to red : 

Of noble bearing ; fair face ; hawk eyes keen, 

And youthful, bearded chin. Right well beseen, 

Scarfed with blue satin ; on his shoulder strong 

One broad gold brooch chased strangely, thick and long. 

His legs in hose of rarest Totness clad, 

And parti-colored leathern shoes he had 

Gold-latched; and in his hand a bannered spear 

Speckled and bronzen sharpened in the air. 

So with his following, while lay like scars 
The blue mist thin along the woodland bars, 



ACCOLON OF GAUL. 

Thro' dew and fog, thro' shadow and thro' ray 

Joustvvard Earl Damas led the forest way. 

Then to King Arthur when arrived were these 

To where the lists shone silken thro' the trees, 

Bannered and draped, a wimpled damsel came, 

Secret, upon a palfrey all aflame 

With sweat and heat of hurry, and, " From her, 

Your sister Morgane, your Excalibur, 

With tender greeting : For ye well have need 

In this adventure of him. So, God speed !" 

And so departed suddenly: nor knew 

The king but this his weapon tried and true. 

But brittle this and fashioned like thereof, 

And false of baser metal, in unlove 

And treason to his life, of her of kin 

Half sister, Morgane — an unnatural sin. 

Then heralded into the lists he rode. 

Opposed flashed Accolon, who light bestrode, 

Exultant, proud in talisman of that sword, 

A dun horse lofty as a haughty lord, 

Pure white about each hollow, pasterned hoof. 

Equipped shone knight and steed in arms of proof. 

Dappled with yellow variegated plate 

Of Spanish laton. And of sovereign state 

His surcoat robe of honor white and black 



43 



44 



ACCOLON OF GAUL. 



Of satin, red-silk needled front and back 
Then blackly bordered. And above his robe 
That two-edged sword, — a throbbing golden globe 
Of vicious jewels, — thrust its burning hilt, 
Its broad belt, tawny and with gold-work gilt, 
Clasped with the eyelid of a black sea-horse 
Whose tongue was rosy gold. And stern as Force 
His visored helmet burned like fire, of rich 
And bronzen laton hammered ; and on which 
An hundred crystals glittered, thick as on 
A silver web bright-studding dews of dawn. 
The casque's tall crest a taloned griffin ramped, 
In whose horned brow one virtuous jewel stamped. 
An ashen spear round-shafted, overlaid 
With fine blue silver, whereon colors played, 
Firm in his iron gauntlet lithely swayed. 

Intense on either side an instant stood 
Glittering as serpents which, with Spring renewed, 
In glassy scales meet on some greening way, 
Angry advance, quick tongues at poisonous play. 
Then clanged a herald's clarion and sharp heels, 
Harsh-spurred, each champion's springing courser feels 
Touch to red onset; the aventured spears 
Hurled like two sun-bursts of a storm when clears 
Laborious thunders; and in middle course 



AC COLON OF GAUL. 



45 



Shrieked shrill the unpierced shields; mailed horse from 

Lashed madly pawing — and a hoarse roar rang [horse 

From buckram lists, till the wild echoes sang 

Of leagues on leagues of forest and of cliff. 

Rigid the proof-shelled warriors passed and stiff 

Whither their squires fresher spears upheld ; 

Nor stayed to breathe ; but scarcely firmly selled 

Launched deadly forward. Shield to savage shield 

Opposing; crest to crest, whose fronts did wield 

A towering war's unmercifulest scath ; 

Rocking undaunted, glared wan withering wrath 

From balls of jeweled eyes, and raging stood 

Slim, slippery bodies, in the sun like blood. 

The lance of Accolon, as on a rock 

Long storm-launched foam breaks baffled, with the shock, 

On Arthur's sounding shield burst splintered force; 

But him resistless Arthur's, — high from horse 

Sell-lifted, — ruinous bare crashing on 

A long sword's length ; unsaddled Accolon 

For one stunned moment lay. Then rising, drew 

The great sword at his hip, that shone like dew 

Fresh flashed in morn. " Descend;" he stiffly said, 

" To proof of better weapons head for head ! 

Enough of spears, to swords !" and so the knight 

Addressed him to the King. Dismounting light, 

Arthur his moon-bright brand unsheathed, and high 



4 <5 ACCOLON OF GAUL. 

Each covering shield gleamed slanting to the sky, 

Relentless, strong, and stubborn ; underneath 

Their wary shelters foined the glittering death 

Of stolid steel thrust livid arm to arm : 

As cloud to cloud growls up a soaring storm 

Above the bleak wood and lithe lightnings work 

Brave blades wild warring, in the black that lurk, 

Thus 'fenced and thrust — one tortoise shield descends, 

Leaps a fierce sword shrill, — like a flame which sends 

A long fang heavenward, — for a crushing stroke; 

Swings hard and trenchant, and, resounding heard, 

Sings surly helmward full ; defiance reared 

Soars to a brother blow to shriek again 

Blade on brave blade. And o'er the battered plain, 

Forward and backward, blade on baleful blade, 

Teeth clenched as visors where the fierce eyes made 

A cavernous, smouldering fury, shield at shield, 

Unflinchingly remained and scorned to yield. 

So Arthur drew aside to rest upon 
His falchion for a pause ; but Accolon 
As yet, thro' virtue of that magic sheath 
Fresh and almighty, being no nearer death 
Thro' loss of blood than when the trial begun, 
Chafed with delay. But Arthur with the sun, 
Its thirsty heat, the loss from wounds of blood, 



AC COLON OF GAUL. 

Leaned fainting weary and so resting stood. 

Cried Accolon, " Here is no time for rest ! 

Defend thee !" and straight on the monarch pressed ; 

" Defend or yield thee as one recreant!" 

Full on his helm a hewing blow did plant, 

Which beat a flying fire from the steel ; 

Smote, like one drunk with wine, the King did reel, 

Breath, brain bewildered. Then, infuriate, 

Nerve-stung with vigor by that blow, in hate 

Gnarled all his strength into one stroke of might, 

And in both fists the huge blade knotted tight, 

Swung red, terrific to a sundering stroke. — 

As some bright wind that hurls th' uprooted oak, — 

Boomed full the beaten burgonet he wore: 

Hacked thro' and thro' the crest, and cleanly shore 

The golden boasting of its griffin fierce 

With hollow clamor down astounded ears : 

No further thence — but, shattered to the grass, 

That brittle blade, crushed as if made of glass, 

Into hot pieces like a broken ray 

Burst sunward and in feverish fragments lay. 

Then groaned the King unarmed ; and so he knew 

This no Excalibur ; that tried and true 

Most perfect tempered, runed and mystical. 

Sobbed, " Oh, hell-false! betray me?" — Then withal 

Him seemed this foe, who fought with so much stress, 



47 



43 



AC COLON OF GAUL. 



So long untiring, and with no distress 

Of wounds or heat, through treachery bare his brand ; 

And then he knew it by its hilt that hand 

Clutched to an avenging stroke. For Accolon 

In madness urged the belted battle on 

His King defenseless ; who, the hilted cross 

Of that false weapon grasped, beneath the boss 

Of his deep-dented shield crouched; and around 

Crawled the unequal conflict o'er the ground, 

Sharded with shattered spears and off-hewn bits 

Of shivered steel and gold that burnt in fits. 

So hunted, yet defiant, cowering 

Beneath his bossy shield's defense, the King 

Persisted stoutly. And, devising still 

How to secure his sword and by what skill, 

Him so it fortuned when most desperate : 

In that hot chase they came where shattered late 

Lay tossed the truncheon of a bursten lance, 

Which deftly seized, to Accolon's advance 

He wielded valorous. Against the fist 

Smote where the gauntlet husked the nervous wrist, 

Which strained the weapon to a wrathful blow; 

Palsied, the tightened sinews of his foe 

Loosened from effort, and, the falchion seized, 

Easy was yielded. Then the wroth King squeezed, 

— Hurling the moon-disk of his shield afar, — 



ACCOLON OF GAUL. 



49 



Him in both knotted arms of wiry war, 

Rocked sidewise twice or thrice, — as one hath seen 

Some stern storm take an ash tree, roaring green, 

Nodding its sappy bulk of trunk and boughs 

To dizziness, from tough, coiled roots carouse 

Its long height thundering; — so King Arthur shook 

Sir Accolon and headlong flung; then took, 

Tearing away, that scabbard from his side, 

Tossed thro' the breathless lists, that far and wide 

Gulped in the battle voiceless. Then right wroth 

Secured Excalibur, and grasped of both 

Wild hands swung glittering and brought bitter down 

On rising Accolon ; steel, bone and brawn 

Hewed thro' that blow ; unsettled every sense : 

Bathed in a world of blood his limbs grew tense 

And writhen then ungathered limp with death. 

Bent to him Arthur, from the brow beneath, 

Unlaced the helm and doffed it and so asked, 

When the fair forehead's hair curled dark uncasqued, 

"Say! ere I slay thee, whence and what thou art? 

What King, what court be thine ? and from what part, 

Speak ! or thou diest ! — Yet, that brow, methinks 

I have beheld it — where ? say, ere death drinks 

The soul-light from life's cups, thine eyes ! thou art — 

What art thou, speak ! " 

He answered slow and short 
5 



5° 



AC COLON OF GAUL. 



With tortured breathing: " I? — one, Accolon 

Of Gaul, a knight of Arthur's court — at dawn — 

God wot what now I am for love so slain !" 

Then seemed the victor spasmed with keen pain, 

Covered with mailed hands his visored face ; 

" Thou Accolon ? art Accolon ?" a space 

Exclaimed and conned him : then asked softly, " Say, 

Whence gatest thou this sword, or in what way 

Thou hadst it, speak?" But wandering that knight 

Heard dully, senses clodded thick with night; 

Then rallying earthward : " Woe, woe worth the sword ! 

— From love of love who lives, for love yet lord ! — 

Morgane ! — thy love for love in love hadst made 

Me strong o'er kings an hundred ! to have swayed 

Britain ! had this not risen like a fate, 

Spawned up, a Hell's miscarriage sired of Hate ! — 

A king? thou curse ! a gold and blood crowned king, 

With Arthur's sister queen ? — 'Twas she who schemed. 

And there at Chariot we loved and dreamed 

Gone some twelve months. There so we had devolved 

How Arthur's death were compassed and resolved 

Each liberal morning, like an almoner, 

Prodigal of silver to the begging air; 

Each turbulent eve that in heaven's turquoise rolled 

Convulsive fiery glories deep in gold ; 

Each night — hilarious heavens vast of night ! — 



ACCOLON OF GAUL. 51 

Boisterous with quivering stars buoyed bubble-light 
In flexuous labyrinths o' the intricate sphere. 
We dreamed and spake Ambition at our ear — 
Nay ! a crowned curse and crimeful clad she came, 
To me, that woman, brighter than a flame ; 
And laughed on me with pouting lips up-pursed 
For kisses which I gave for love : How cursed 
Was I thereafter ! For, lie fleshed in truth, 
She shrivels to a hag ! Behind that youth 
Ugly, misshapen ; Lust not Love, wherein 
Germs pregnant seed of Hell for hate and sin. — 
I seek for such the proudest height of seat, 
King Arthur's kingdom, and bold fame complete ? — 
Harlot ! — sweet spouse of Urience King of Gore ! — 
Sweet harlot ! — here's that death determined o'er ! 
And now thou hast thy dream, and dreaming grieve 
That death so ruins it ? — Thy mouth to shrieve ! — 
Nay, nay, I love thee ! witness bare this field ! 
I love thee ! — heart, dost love her and yet yield ? — 
Enow ! enow ! so hale me hence to die !" 

Then anger in the good King's gloomy eye 
Burnt, instant-embered, as one oft may see 
A star leak out of heaven and cease to be. 
Slow from his visage he his visor raised, 
And on the dying one mute moment gazed. 



52 



ACCOLON OF GAUL. 



Then low bespake him grimly : " Accolon, 

I am that King." He with an awful groan, 

Blade-battered as he was, beheld and knew ; 

Strained to his tottering knees and haggard drew 

Up full his armored tallness, hoarsely cried, 

" The King !" and at his mailed feet clashed and died. 

Then rose a world of anxious faces pressed 

About King Arthur, who, though wound-distressed, 

Bespake that multitude : " Whiles breath and power 

Remain, judge we these brethren : This harsh hour 

Hath yielded Damas all this rich estate ; — 

So it is his — allotted his of Fate 

Thro' might of arms ; so let it be to him. 

For, stood our oath on knighthood not so slim 

But that it hath this strong conclusion : 

This much by us as errant knight is done : 

Now our decree as King of Britain, hear : 

We do adjudge this Damas banned fore'er, 

Outlawed and exiled from all shores and isles 

Of farthest Britain in its many miles. 

One month be his — no more ! then will we come 

Even with an iron host to seal his doom ; 

If he be not departed over seas, 

Hang naked from his battlements to please 

Of carrion ravens and wild hawks the craws. 

Thus much for Damas. But our pleasure draws 



AC COLON OF GAUL. 

Toward sir Ontzlake, whom it likes the King 

To take into his knightly following 

Of that Round Table royal. — Stand our word ! — 

But I am overweary ; take my sword ; — 

Unharness me ; for, battle worn, I tire 

With bruises' achings and wounds mad with fire; 

And monasteryward would I right fain, 

Even Glastonbury and with me the slain." 

So bare they then the wounded King away, 

The dead behind. So, closed the Autumn day. 



But when within that abbey he waxed strong, 

The King remembering him of all the wrong 

That Damas had inflicted on the land, 

Commanded Lionell with a staunch band 

This weed's out-stamping if still rooted there. 

He riding thither to that robber lair, 

Led Arthur's hopefulest helms, when thorn on thorn 

Reddened an hundred spears one winter morn ; 

Built up, a bulk of bastioned rock on rock, 

Vast battlements, that loomed above the shock 

Of freshening foam that climbed with haling hands, 

Lone cloudy-clustered turrets in loud lands 

Set desolate, — mournful o'er wide, frozen flats, — 

Found hollow towers the haunt of owls and bats. 



53 



54 



AC COLON OF GAUL. 



IV. 



HATE, born of Wrath and mother red of Crime, 
In Hell was whelped ere the hot hands of time, 
Artificer of God, had coined one world 
From formless forms of void and 'round it furled 
Its lordly raiment of the day and night, 
And germed its womb for seasons throed with might : 
And Hell sent Hate to man to hate or use, 
To serve itself by serving and amuse. . . 

For her half brother Morgane had conceived 

A morbid hatred ; in that much she grieved, 

Envious and jealous, for that high renown 

And majesty the King for his fast crown 

Thro' worship had acquired. And once he said, 

" The closest kin to state are those to dread : 

No honor such to crush : envenoming 

All those kind tongues of blood that try to sing 

Petition to the soul, while conscience quakes 

Huddled, but stern to hearts whose cold pride takes." 

And well she knew that Arthur : mightier 

Than Accolon, without Excalibur 

Were as a stingless hornet in the joust 

With all his foreign weapons. So her trust 

Smiled certain of conclusion ; eloquent 



ACCOLON OF GAUL. 



55 



Gave lofty heart bold hope that at large eyes 

Piled up imperial dreams of power and prize. 

And in her carven chamber, oaken dark, 

Traceried and arrased, o'er the barren park 

That dripped with Autumn, — for November lay 

Swathed frostily in fog on every spray, — 

Thought at her tri-arched casement lone, one night, 

Ere yet came knowledge of that test of might. 

Her lord in slumber and the castle dull 

With silence or with sad wind-music full. 

" And he removed ? — fond fool ! he is removed / 

Death-dull from feet to hair and graveward shoved 

From royalty to that degraded state 

But purpler pomp ! But, see ! regenerate 

Another monarch rises — Accolon ! — 

Love ! Love ! with state more ermined ; balmy son 

Of gods not men, and nobler hence to rule. 

Sweet Love almighty, terrible to school 

Harsh hearts to gentleness ! — Then all this realm's 

Iron-husked flower of war, which overwhelms 

With rust and havoc, shall explode and bloom 

An asphodel of peace with joy's perfume. 

And then, sweet Launcelots and sweet Tristrams proud, 

Sweet Gueneveres, sweet Isouds, now allowed 

No pleasures but what wary, stolen hours 

In golden places have their flaming flowers, 



56 



AC COLON OF GAUL. 



Shall have curled feasts of passion evermore. 

Poor out-thrust Love, now shivering at the door, 

No longer, sweet neglected, thou thrust off, 

Insulted and derided : nor the scoff 

Of bully Power, whose heart of insult flings 

Off for the roar of arms the appeal that clings 

And lifts a tearful, prayerful pitiful face 

Up from his brutal feet : this shrine where grace 

Lays woman's life for every sacrifice — 

To him so little, yet of what pure price, 

Her all, being all her all for love! — her soul 

Life, honor, earth and firmamental whole 

Of God's glad universe ; stars, moon and sun ; 

Creation, death ; life ended, life begun. 

And if by fleshly love all Heaven's debarred, 

Its sinuous revolving spheres instarred, 

Then Hell were Heaven with love to those who knew 

Love which God's Heaven encouraged — love that drew 

Hips, head and hair in fiends' devouring claws 

Down, down its pit's hurled sucking, as down draws, — 

Yet lip to narrow lip with whom we love, — 

A whirlwind some weak, crippled, fallen dove. 

" Then this lank Urience ? He who is lord. — 
Where is thy worry ? for, hath he no sword ? 
No dangerous dagger I, hid softly here 



ACCOLON OF GAUL. 

Sharp as an adder's fang ? or for that ear 

No instant poison which insinuates, 

Tightens quick pulses, while one breathing waits, 

With ice and death ? For often men who sleep 

On eider-down wake not, but closely keep 

Such secrets in their graves to rot and rot 

To dust and maggots; — of these — which his lot?" 

Thus she conspired with her that rainy night 

Lone in her chamber ; when no haggard, white, 

Wan, watery moon dreamed on the streaming pane, 

But on the leads beat an incessant rain, 

And sighed and moaned a weary wind along 

The turrets and torn poplars stirred to song. 

So grew her face severe as skies that take 
Dark forces of full storm, sound-shod, that shake 
With murmurous feet black hills, and stab with fire 
A pine some moaning forest mourns as sire. 
So touched her countenance that dark intent; 
And to still eyes stern thoughts a passion sent, 
As midnight waters luminous glass deep 
Suggestive worlds of austere stars in sleep, 
Vague ghostly gray locked in their hollow gloom. 
Then as if some vast wind had swept the room, 
Silent, intense, had raised her from her seat, 
Of dim, great arms had made her a retreat, 



57 



5 8 ACCOLON OF GAUL. 

Secret as love to move in, like some ghost, 

Noiseless as death and subtle as sharp frost, 

Poised like a light and borne as carefully, 

Trod she the gusty hall where shadowy 

The stirring hangings rolled a Pagan war. 

And there the mail of Urience shone. A star, 

Glimmering above, a dying cresset dropped 

From the stone vault and flared. And here she stopped 

And took the sword bright, burnished by his page, 

And ruddy as a flame with restless rage. 

Grasping this death unto the chamber where 

Slept innocent her spouse she moved — an air 

Twined in soft, glossy sendal ; or a fit 

Of faery song a wicked charm in it, 

A spell that sings seductive on to death. 

Then paused she at one chamber ; for a breath 

Listened : and here her son Sir Ewain slept, 

He who of ravens a black army kept, 

In war than fiercest men more terrible, 

That tore forth eyes of kings who blinded fell. 

Sure that he slept, to Urience stole and stood 

Dim by his couch. About her heart hot blood 

Caught strangling, then throbbed thudding fever up 

To her broad eyes, like wine whirled in a cup. 

Then came rare Recollection, with a mouth 
Sweet as the honeyed sunbeams of the South 



ACCOLON OF GAUL. 59 

Trickling thro' perplexed ripples of low leaves ; 

To whose faint form a veil of starshine cleaves 

Intricate gauze from memoried eyes to feet ; — 

Feet sandaled with crushed, sifted snows and fleet 

To come and go and airy anxiously. 

She, trembling to her, like a flower a bee 

Nests in and makes an audible mouth of musk 

Dripping a downy language in the dusk, 

Laid lips to ears and luted memories of 

Now hateful Urience : — Her maiden love, 

That willing went from Caerlleon to Gore 

One dazzling day of Autumn. How a boar, 

Wild as the wonder of the blazing wood, 

Raged at her from a cavernous solitude, 

Which, crimson-creepered, yawned the bristling curse 

Murderous upon her ; how her steed waxed worse 

And, snorting terror, fled unmanageable, 

Pursued with fear, and flung her from the selle, 

Soft slipping on a bank of springy moss 

That couched her swooning. In an utter loss 

Of mind and limbs she only knew twas thus — 

As one who pants beneath an incubus : — 

The boar thrust toward her a tusked snout and fanged 

Of hideous bristles, and the whole wood clanged 

And buzzed and boomed a thousand sounds and lights 

Lawless about her brain, like leaves fierce nights 



60 AC COLON OF GAUL. 

Of hurricane harvest shouting : then she knew 

A fury thunder twixt it — and fleet flew 

Rich-rooted moss and sandy loam that held 

Dark-buried shadows of the wild, and swelled 

Continual echoes with the thud of strife, 

And breath of man and brute that warred for life ; 

And all the air, made mad with foam and forms, 

Spun froth and wrestled twixt her hair and arms, 

While trampled caked the stricken leaves or shred 

Hummed whirling, and snapped brittle branches dead. 

And when she rose and leaned her throbbing head, 

Which burst its uncoifed rays of raven hair 

Down swelling shoulders pure and faultless fair, 

On one milk, marvelous arm of fluid grace, 

Beheld the brute thing throttled and the face 

Of angry Urience over, browed like Might, 

One red, swoln arm, that pinned the hairy fright, 

Strong as a god's, iron at the gullet's brawn ; 

Dug in his midriff, the close knees updrawn 

Wedged deep the glutton sides that quaked and strove 

A shaggy bulk, whose sharp hoofs horny drove. 

Thus man and brute burned bent; when Urience slipped 

One arm, the horror's tearing tusks had ripped 

And ribboned redly, to the dagger's hilt, 

Which at his hip hung long a haft gold-gilt; 

Its rapid splinter drew ; beamed twice and thrice 



ACCOLON OF GAUL. 61 

High in the sun its ghastliness of ice, 

Plunged — and the great boar, stretched in sullen death, 

Weakened thro' wild veins, groaned laborious breath. 

And how he brought her water from a well 

That rustled freshness near them, as it fell 

From its full-mantled urn, in his deep casque, 

And prayed her quaff; then bathed her brow, a task 

That had accompaning tears of joy and vows 

Of love, sweet intercourse of eyes and brows, 

And many clinging kisses eloquent. 

And how, when dressed his arm, behind him bent 

She clasped him on the same steed and they went 

On thro' the gold wood toward the golden West, 

Till on one low hill's forest-covered crest 

Up in the gold his castle's battlements pressed. 

And then she felt she'd loved him till had come 

Fame of the love of Isoud, whom from home 

Brought knightly Tristram o'er the Irish foam, 

And Guenevere's for Launcelot of the Lake. 

And then how passion from these seemed to wake 

Longing for some great gallant who would slake — 

And such found Accolon. 

And then she thought 
How far she'd fallen and how darkly fraught 
With consequence was this. Then what distress 



6 2 AC COLON OF GAUL. 

Were hers and his — her lover's ; and success 

How doubly difficult if Arthur slain, 

King Urience lived to assert his right to reign. 

So paused she pondering on the blade; her lips 

Breathless and close as close cold finger tips 

Hugged the huge weapon's hilt. And so she sighed, 

" Nay ! long, too long hast lived who shouldst have died 

Even in the womb abortive ! who these years 

Hast leashed sweet life to care with stinging tears, 

A knot thus harshly severed ! — As thou art 

Into the elements naked !" 

O'er his heart 
The long sword hesitated, lean as crime, 
Descended redly once. And like a rhyme 
Of nice words fairly fitted forming on, — 
A sudden ceasing and the harmony gone, 
So ran to death the life of Urience, 
A strong song incomplete of broken sense. 
There glowered the crimeful Queen. The glistening sword 
Unfleshed, flung by her wronged and murdered lord ; 
And the dark blood spread broader thro' the sheet 
To drip a horror at impassive feet 
And blur the polished oak. But lofty she 
Stood proud, relentless; in her ecstacy 
A lovely devil ; a crowned lust that cried 
On Accolon ; that harlot which defied 



ACCOLON OF GAUL. 63 

Heaven with a voice of pulses clamorous as 

Steep storm that down a cavernous mountain pass 

Blasphemes an hundred echoes ; with like power 

The inner harlot called its paramour : 

Him whom King Arthur had commanded, when 

Borne from the lists, be granted her again 

As his blithe gift and welcome from that joust, 

For treacherous love and her adulterous lust. 

And while she stood revolving how her deed's 

Concealment were secured, — a grind of steeds, 

Arms, jingling stirrups, voices loud that cursed 

Fierce in the northern court. To her athirst 

For him her lover, war and power it spoke, 

Him victor and so King; and then awoke 

A yearning to behold, to quit the dead. 

So a wild specter down wide stairs she fled, 

Burst on a glare of links and glittering mail, 

That shrunk her eyes and made her senses quail. 

To her a bulk of iron, bearded fierce, 

Down from a steaming steed into her ears, 

" This from the King, a boon !" laughed harsh and hoarse ; 

Two henchmen beckoned, who pitched sheer with force, 

Loud clanging at her feet, hacked, hewn and red, 

Crusted with blood a knight in armor — dead; 

Even Accolon, tossed with the mocking scoff 

" This from the King !" — phantoms in fog rode off. 



64 AC COLON OF GAUL. 

And what remains ? From Camelot to Gore 

That night she weeping fled ; then to the shore, — 

As that romancer tells, — Avilion, 

Where she hath Majesty gold-crowned yet wan ; 

In darkest cypress a frail pitious face 

Queenly and lovely; 'round sad eyes the trace 

Of immemorial tears as for some crime : 

They future fixed, expectant of the time 

When the forgiving Arthur cometh and 

Shall have to rule all that lost golden land 

That drifts vague amber in forgotten seas 

Of surgeless turquoise dim with mysteries. 

And so was seen Morgana nevermore, 

Save once when from the Cornwall coast she bore 

The wounded Arthur from that last fought fight 

Of Camlan in a black barge into night. 

But oft some see her with a palfried band 

Of serge-stoled maidens thro' the drowsy land 

Of Autumn glimmer; when are sharply strewn 

The red leaves, while broad in the east a moon 

Swings full of frost a lustrous globe of gleams, 

Faint on the mooning hills as shapes in dreams. 



DER FREISCHUTZ. 

Es gibt im Menschetileben Augenblicke, 

Wo er dem Weltgeist naher ist ah sotist. — Schiller. 

HE? why, a tall Franconlan strong and young, 
Brown as a walnut the first frost hath hulled ; 
A soul of full endeavor powerful 
Bound in lithe limbs, knit into grace and strength 
Of bronze-like muscles elegant, that poised 
A head like Hope's- and then the manly lines 
Of face developed by action and mobile 
To each suggestive impulse of the mind, 
Of smiles of buoyancy or scowls of gloom. — 
And what deep eyes were his ! — Aye ; I can see 
Their wild and restless disks of luminous night 
Instinct with haughtiness that sneered at Fate, 
Glared cold conclusion to all circumstance, 
As with loud law, to his advantage swift : 
With scorn derisive that shot out a barb, 
Stabbed Superstition to its dagger hilt; 
That smiled a thrust-like smile which curled the lip, 
A vicious heresy with incredible lore, 



66 DER FREISCHUTZ. 

When God's or holy Mary's name came forth 
Exclaimed in reverence or astonishment ; 
And then would say, 

" What is this God you mouth, 
Employ whose name to sanctify and damn ? — 
A benedictive curse? — 'T hath past my skill 
Of grave interpretation. And your faith — 
Distinguishment unseen, design unlawed. 
For earth, air, fire or water or keen cold, 
Hints no existence of such, worships not, 
Such as men's minds profess. Rather, meseems, 
Throned have they one such as their hopes have wrought 
In hope there may prove such an one in death 
For Paradise or punishment. I hold 
He juster were and would be kinglier kind 
In sovereign mercy and a prodigal — 
Not to few favored heads who, crowned with state, 
Rule sceptered Infamies — of indulgence free 
To all that burn luxuriant incense on 
Shrines while they prayer him love's obedience. 
Are all not children of the same weak mold ? 
Clay of His Adam-modeled clay made quick ? 
Endowed with the like hopes, loves, fears and hates, 
Our mother's weaknesses ? And these, forsooth, 
These little crowns that lord it o'er His world, 
Tricked up with imitative majesty, 



DER FREISCHUTZ. 67 

God-countenanced arrogances, throned may still 

Cry, ' crawl and worship, for we are as gods 

Through God! great gods incarnate of his kind!' 

— Omnipotent Wrong-representatives ! 

With might that blasts the world with wars and wrings 

Groans from pale Nations with hell's tyranny. 

So to my mind real monarch only he — 

Your Satan cramped in Hell ! — aye, by the fiend ! 

To pygmy Earth's frail tinsel majesties, 

That ape a God in a sonorous Heaven. 

Grant me the Devil in all mercy then, 

For I will none of such ! a fiend for friend 

While Earth is of the earth ; and afterward — 

Nay ! ransack not To-morrow till To-day, 

If all that's joy engulf you when it is." 

And laughed an oily laugh of easy jest 
To bow out God and hand the Devil in. — 
I met him here at Ammendorf one Spring, 
Toward the close of April when the Harz, 
Veined to their ruin-crested summits, pulsed 
A fluid life of green and budded gold 
Beneath pure breathing skies of boundless blue : 
Where low-yoked oxen, yellow to the knees, 
Along the fluted meadow, freshly ploughed, 
Plodded and snuffed the fragrance of the soil, 
The free bird sang exultant in the sun. 



68 DER FREISCHUTZ. 

Triumphant Spring with hinted hopes of May 
And jaunty June, her mouth a puckered rose. 
Here at this very hostelery o' The Owl ; 
Mine host there sleek served cannikins of wine 
Beneath that elm now touseled by that shrew, 
Lean Winter. Well ! — a lordly vintage that ! 
With tang of fires which had sucked out their soul 
From feverish sun-vats, cooled it from the moon's ; 
From wine-skin bellies of the bursting grape 
Trodden, in darkness of old cellars aged 
Even to the tingling smack of olden earth. 
Rich ! I remember ! — wine that spurred the blood — 
Thou hast none such, I swear, nor wilt again ! — 
That brought the heart loud to the generous mouth, 
And made the eyes unlatticed casements whence 
The good man's soul laughed interested out. 
Stoups of rare royal Rhenish, such they say 
As Necromance hides guarded in vast casks 
Of antique make far in the Kyff hauser, 
The Cellar of the Knights near Sittendorf. 

So, mellowed by that wine to friendship frank, 
He spake me his intent in coming here ; 
But not one word of what his parentage ; 
But this his name was, Rudolf, and his home, 
Franconia ; but nor why he left nor when : 
His mind to live a forester and be 



DER FREISCHUTZ. 69 

Enfellowed in the Duke of Brunswick's train 
Of buff and green ; and so to his estate 
Even now was bound, a youth of twenty-three. 
And when he ceased the fire in his eyes 
Worked restless as a troubled animal's, 
Which hate-enraged can burn a steady flame, 
Brute merciless. And thus I mused with me, 
When he had ceased to fulminate at state, 
"Another Count von Hackelnburg the fiend 
Hath tricked unto the chase! — for hounds from Hell?" 
But answered nothing, save light words of cheer 
As best become fleet friends warm wine doth make. 
Then as it chanced, old Kurt had come that morn 
With some six of his jerkined foresters 
From the Thuringian forest ; damp with dew ; 
Red-cheeked as morn with early travel ; bound 
For Brunswick, Dummburg and the Hakel passed. 
Chief huntsman he then to the goodly Duke, 
And father of the sunniest maiden here 
In Ammendorf, the blameless Ilsabe; 
Who, motherless, the white-haired father prized 
A jewel priceless. As huge barons' ghosts 
Guard big, accumulated hoards of wealth, 
Fast-sealed in caverned cellars, robber wells, 
Beneath the dungeoned Dummburg, so he watched 
Her, all his world in her who was his wealth. 



7° 



DER FREISCHUTZ. 



A second Lora of Thuringia she. 
Faultless for love, instilled all souls with love, 
Who, in the favor of her maiden smile, 
Felt friendship grow up like a golden thought ; 
A life of love from words ; and light that fell 
And wrought calm influence from her pure blue eyes. 
Hair sedate and austerely dressed o'er brows 
White as a Harz dove's wing ; hair with the hue 
Of twilight mists the sun hath soaked with gold. 
A Tyrolean melody that brought 
Dim dreams of Alpine heights, of shepherds brown, 
Goat-skinned, with healthy cheeks and wrinkled lips 
That fill wild oaten pipes on wand'ring ways, 
Embowered deep, with mountain melodies, — 
Simple with love and plaintive even to tears, — 
Her presence, her sweet presence like a song. 
And when she left, it was as when one hath 
Beheld a moonlit Undine, ere the mind 
Adjusts one thought, cleave thro' the glassy Rhine 
A glittering beauty wet, and gone again 
A flash — the soul drifts wondering on in dreams. 

Some thirty years agone is that ; and I, 
Commissioner of the Duke — no sinecure 
I can assure you — had scarce reached the age 
Of thirty (then some three years of that House). 
Thro' me the bold Franconian, whom at first, 



DER FREISCHUTZ. 71 

By bitter principles and scorn of state — 

Developed into argument thro' wine — 

The foresthood like was to be denied, 

Was then enfellowed. "Yes," I said, "he's young; 

True, rashly young ! yet, see : a wiry frame, 

A chamois' footing, and a face for right; 

An eye which likes me not, but quick with pride, 

And aimed at thought, a butt it may not miss: 

A soul with virgin virtues which crude flesh 

Makes seem but vices, these but God may see — 

Develop these. But, if there's aught of worth, 

Body or mind, in him, Kurt, thou wilt know, 

And to the surface wear, as divers win 

From hideous ooze and life rich jewels lost 

Of polished pureness, worthless left to night, 

Thou or thy daughter, and inspire for good." 

A year thereafter was it that I heard 
Of Rudolf's passion for Kurt's Ilsabe, 
Then their betrothal. And it was from this, — 
For, ah, that Ilsabe ! that Ilsabe ! — 
Good Mary Mother ! how she haunts me yet ! 
She, that true touchstone which philosophers feign 
Contacts and golds all base ; a woman who 
Could touch all evil into good in man. — 
Surmised I of the excellency which 



7 2 DER FREISCHUTZ. 

Refinement of her gentle company, 

Warm presence of chaste beauty, had resolved 

His fiery nature to, conditioning slave. 

And so I came from Brunswick — as you know — 

Is custom of the Duke or, by his seal 

Commissioned proxy, his commissioner, — 

To test the marksmanship of Rudolf who 

Succeeded Kurt with marriage of his child, 

An heir of Kuno. — He ? — Great grandfather 

Of Kurt, and one this forestkeepership 

Was first possesor of; established thus — 

Or such the tale they told me 'round the hearths. 

Kuno, once in the Knight of Wippach's train, 
Rode on a grand hunt with the Duke, who came 
With vast magnificence of knights and hounds, 
And satin-tuniced nobles curled and plumed 
To hunt Thuringian deer. Then Morn too slow 
On her blithe feet was ; quick with laughing eyes 
To morrow mortal eyes and lazy limbs ; 
Rather on tip-toed hills recumbent yawned, 
Aroused an hour too soon ; ashamed, disrobed, 
Rubbed the stiff sleep from eyes that still would close, 
While brayed the hollow horns and bayed lean hounds, 
And cheered gallants until the dingles dinned, 
Where searched the climbing mists or, compact light, 
Fled breathless white, clung scared a moted gray, 
Low unsunned cloudlands of the castled hills. 



DER FREISCHUTZ. 

And then near mid-noon from a swarthy brake 
The ban-dogs roused a red gigantic stag, 
Lashed to whose back with grinding knotted cords, 
Borne with whom like a nightmare's incubus, 
A man shrieked ; burry-bearded and his hair 
Kinked with dry, tangled burrs, and he himself 
Emaciated and half naked. From 
The wear of wildest passage thro' the wild, 
Rent red by briars, torn and bruised by rocks. 
— For, such the law then, when the peasant chased 
Or slew the dun deer of his tyrant lords, 
As punishment the torturing withes and spine 
Of some big stag, a gift of game and wild 
Enough till death — death in the antlered herd 
Or crawling famine in bleak, haggard haunts. 
Then was the dark Duke glad, and forthwith cried 
To all his dewy train a rich reward 
For him who slew the stag and saved the man, 
But death to him who slew the man and stag, 
The careless error of a loose attempt. 
So crashed the hunt along wild, glimmering ways 
Thro' creepers and vast brush beneath gnarled trees, 
Up a scorched torrent's bed. Yet still refused 
Each that sure shot ; the risk too desperate 
The poor life and the golden gift beside. 
So this young Kuno with two eyes wherein 

7 



73 



74 



DER FREISCHUTZ. 



Hunt with excitement kindled reckless fire 
Clamored, " And are ye cowards ? — Good your grace, 
You shall not chafe ! — The fiend direct my ball !" 
And fired into a covert deeply packed, 
An intertangled wall of matted night, 
Wherein the eye might vainly strive and strive 
To pierce one foot or earn one point beyond. 
But, ha ! the huge stag staggered from the brake 
Heart-hit and perished. That wan wretch unhurt 
Soon bondless lay condoled. But the great Duke, 
Charmed with the eagle shot, admired the youth, 
There to him and his heirs forever gave 
The forest keepership. 

But envious tongues 
Were soon at wag ; and whispered went the tale 
Of how the shot was free, and that the balls 
Used by young Kuno were free bullets, which 
Molded were cast in influence of the fiend 
By magic and directed by the fiend. 
Of some effect these tales were and some force 
Had with the Duke, who lent an ear so far 
As to ordain Kuno's descendants all 
To proof of skill ere their succession to 
The father's office. Kurt himself hath shot 
The silver ring from out the popinjay's beak — 
A good shot he, you see, who would succeed. 



DER FREISCHUTZ. 



75 



The Devil guards his mysteries close as God. 
For who can say what elementaries 
Demoniac lurk in desolate dells and woods 
Shadowy ? malicious vassals of that power 
Who signs himself, thro' these, a slave to those, 
Those mortals who act open with his Hell, 
Those only who seek secretly and woo. 

Of these free, fatal bullets let me speak : 
There may be such ; our Earth hath things as strange ; 
Then only in coarse fancies may exist; 
For fancy is among our peasantry 
A limber juggler with the weird and dark ; 
For Superstition hides not her grim face, 
A skeleton grin on leprous ghastliness, 
From Ignorance's mossy thatches low. 

A cross-way, as I heard, among gaunt hills, 
A solitude convulsed of rocks and trees 
Blasted ; and on the stony cross-road drawn 
A bloody circle with a bloody sword ; 
Herein rude characters ; a skull and thighs 
Fantastic fixed before a fitful fire 
Of spiteful coals. Eleven of the clock 
Cast, the first bullet leaves the mold, — the lead 
Mixed with three bullets that have hit their mark, 
Burnt blood, — the wounded Sacramental Host, 
Unswallowed and unhallowed, oozed when shot 



76 DER FREISCHUTZ. 

Fixed to a riven pine. — Ere twelve o'clock, 
When dwindling specters in their rotting shrouds 
Quit musty tombs to mumble hollow woes 
In Midnight's horrored ear, with never a cry, 
Word or weak whisper, till that hour sound, 
Must the free balls be cast ; and these shall be 
In number three and sixty ; three of which 
Semial — he the Devil's minister — 
Claims for his master and stamps as his own 
To hit awry their mark, askew for harm. 
Those other sixty shall not miss their mark. 

No cry, no word, no whisper, tho' there gibe 
Most monstrous shapes that flicker in thick mist 
Lewd human countenances or leer out 
Swoln animal faces with fair forms of men, 
While wide-winged owls fan the drear, dying coals, 
That lick thin, slender tongues of purple fire 
From viperous red, and croaks the night-hawk near. 
No cry, no word, no whisper should there come 
Weeping a wandering form with weary, white 
And pleading countenance of her you love, 
Faded with tears of waiting ; beckoning 
With gray, large arms or censuring; her shame 
In dull and desolate eyes ; who, if you speak 
Or stagger from that circle — hideous change ! — 
Shrinks, faced a hag of million wrinkles, which 



DER FREISCHUTZ. 77 

Ridge scaly sharpness of protruding bones, 

To rip you limb from limb with taloned claws. 

Nor be deceived if some far midnight bell 

Boom that anticipated hour, nor leave 

By one short inch the bloody orbit, for 

The minion varlets of Hell's majesty 

Expectant cirque its dim circumference. 

But when the hour of midnight smites, be sure 

You have your bullets, neither more nor less ; 

For, if thro' fear one more or less you have, 

Your soul is forfeit to those agencies, 

Right rathe who are to rend it from the flesh. 

And while that hour of midnight sounds a din 

Of hurrying hoofs and shouting outriders — 

Six snorting steeds postilioned roll a stage 

Black and with groaning wheels of spinning fire, 

" Room there ! — ho ! ho! — who bars the mountain-way ! 

On over him !" — but fear not nor fare forth, — 

'Tis but the last trick of your bounden slave : 

And ere the red moon strives from dingy clouds 

And dives again, high the huge leaders leap 

Iron fore-hoofs flashing and big eyes like gledes, 

And, spun a spiral spark into the night, 

Whistling the phantom flies and fades away. 

Some say there comes no stage, but Hackelnburg, 

Wild Huntsman of the Harz, rides hoarse in storm, 



7 8 DER FREISCHUTZ, 

Dashing the dead leaves with dark dogs of hell 
Direful thro' whirling thickets, and his horn 
Croaks doleful as an owl's hoot while he hurls 
Straight 'neath rain-streaming skies of echoes, sheer 
Plunging the magic circle horse and hounds. 
And then will come, plutonian clad and slim, 
Upon a stallion vast intensely black, 
Semial, Satan's lurid minister, 
To hail you and inform you and assure. — 

Enough ! these wives-tales heard to what I've seen ; 
To Ammendorf I came ; and Rudolf there 
With Kurt and all his picturesque foresters 
Met me. And then the rounding year was ripe ; 
Throbbing the red heart of full Autumn : When 
Each morning gleams crisp frost on shriveled fields ; 
Each noon sits veiled in mysteries of mist ; 
Each night unrolls a miracle woof of stars, 
Where moon — bare-bosomed goddess of the hunt — 
Wades calm, crushed clouds or treads the vaster blue. 
Then I proposed the season's hunt ; till eve 
The test of Rudolf's skill postponed, with which 
Annoyed he seemed. And so it was I heard 
How he an execrable marksman was, 
And whispered tales of near, incredible shots 
That wryed their mark, while in his flint-lock's pan 
Flashed often harmless powder, while wild game 



DER FREISCHUTZ. 

Stared fearless on him and indulgent stood, 
An open butt to such wide marksmanship. 

Howbeit, he that day acquitted him 
Of these maligners' cavils ; in the hunt 
Missing no shot however rash he made 
Or distant thro' thick intercepting trees ; 
And the piled, curious game brought down of all 
Good marksmen of that train had not sufficed, 
Doubled, nay, trebled, to have matched his heap. 
And wonderstruck the j'dgers saw, nor knew 
How to excuse them. My indulgence giv'n, 
Still swore that only yesterday old Kurt 
Had touched his daughter's tears and Rudolf's wrath 
By vowing end to their betrothed love, 
Unless that love developed better aim 
Against the morrow's test ; his ancestor's 
High fame should not be damaged. So he stormed, 
But bowed his gray head and wept silently ; 
Then looking up forgave when big he saw 
Tears in his daughter's eyes and Rudolf gone 
Forth in the night that wailed with coming storm. 

Before this inn, The Owl, assembled came 
The nice-primped villagers to view the trial : 
Fair frauleins and blonde, comely, healthy fraus ; 
Stout burgers. And among them I did mark 
Kurt and his daughter. He, a florid face 



79 



8o DER FREISCHUTZ. 

Of pride and joy for Rudolf's strange success ; 
She, radiant and flounced in flowing garb 
Of bridal white deep-draped and crowned with flowers ; 
For Kurt insisted this their marriage eve 
Should Rudolf come successful from the chase. 
So pleased was I with what I'd seen him do, 
The test of skill superfluous seemed and so 
Was on the bare brink of announcement, when, 
Out of the evening heaven's hardening red, 
Like a white warning loosed for augury, 
A word of God some fallen angel prized 
As his last all of heaven, penitent, 
Hell-freed, sent minister to save a soul, 
A wild dove clove the luminous winds and there, 
A wafted waif, pruned settled on a bough : 
Then I, " Thy weapon, Rudolph, pierce its head!" 
Cried pointing, "And chief-forester art thou!" 
Pale as a mist and wavering he turned ; 
" I had a dream — " then faltered as he aimed, 
"A woman's whim !" But starting from the press 
Screamed Ilsabe, " My dove !" to plead its life 
Came — cracked the rifle and untouched the dove 
Rose beating lustrous wings, but Ilsabe — 
" God's wrath ! the sight ! " — fell smitten, and the blood 
Sprang red from shattered brow and silent hair — 
That bullet strangely thro' her brow and brain. . . . 



DER FREISCHUTZ. 81 

And what of Rudolf? ah ! of him you ask? 
That proud Franconian who would scoff at Fate 
And scorn all state ; who cried black Satan friend 
Sooner than our white Christ ; — why, he went mad 
O' the moment, and into the haunted Harz 
Fled, an unholy thing, and perished there 
The prey of demons of the Dummburg. But 
I one of few less superstitious who 
Say, as the finale of a madman's deed, 
He in the Bode, from that ragged rock, 
The Devil's Dancing Place, did leap and die. 



TO REVERY. 

WHAT ogive gates from gold of Ophir wrought, 
What walls of bastioned Parian, lucid rose, 
What marts of crystal, for the eyes of Thought 

Hast builded on what Islands of Repose ! 
Vague onyx columns ranked Corinthian, 
Or piled Ionic, colonnading heights 

That loom above long burst of mythic seas : 
Vast gynaeceums of carnelian ; 

Micaceous temples, far marmorean flights, 

Where winds the arabesque and plastique frieze. 

Where bulbous domes of coruscating ore 

Cloud — like convulsive sunsets — lands that dream, 
Myrrh-fragrant, over siren seas and hoar, 

Dashed with stiff, breezy foam of ocean's stream. 
Tempestuous architecture-revelries ; 

Built melodies of marble or clear glass ; 

Effulgent sculptures chiseled out of thought 
In misty attitudes, whose majesties 

Feed full the pleasure as those beauties pass 
To pale extinctions which are beauty fraught. 



TO R EVERY. 83 

On rebeck and on rose in plinths of spars, 

On glimmering solitudes of flower and stone, 
A twilight-glow swoons settled, burned with stars, 

Deep violet dusk developing nor done. 
Where float fair nacreous shapes like deities, — 

Existences of glory musical, — [gold, 

'Round whose warm hair twist fillets' coiling 
Their limbs Olympian lovely, and their eyes 

Dark oblique fervors ; and most languorous tall 
In woven white with girdling gold threefold. 

There darkling the consummate vintage sleeps, — 

Lethe-nepenthes for Earth-agony, — 
In sealed amphorae some Sybil keeps, 

World-old, forever cellared secretly. 
A wine of Xeres or of Syracuse? 

A fierce Falernian ? — Ah ! no vile Sabine ! — 
A stol'n ambrosia of what olden god ? 
Whose bubbled rubies maiden feet did bruise 

From crusted vats of vintage rich, I ween, 
Vivacious purple of some Samian sod. 

Oh, for the cold conclusion of one draught ! 

Elysian ecstacy of classic earth ! — [laughed 

Where heroes warred with gods and where gods 

In eyes of mortal brown, a lusty mirth 



84 



TO R EVERY. 

Of deity delirious with desire : 

Where danced the sacrifice to horned shrines, 
And splashed the full libation blue as blood. — 
Oh, to be drunk with dreaming ! to inspire 
The very soul of beauty whence it shines 
Too lost for utterance yet understood ! 

In cogitation of what verdurous shades, 

Dull-droning quietudes where wild-bees lolled 
Suck, lulled in pulpy lilies of the glades, 

Barbaric-smothered with the kerneled gold : 
Teased by some torso of the golden age, 

Nude breasts of Cytherea, famous fair, 
Uncestus'd, yet suggestive of what loves 
Immortal! yearn enamoured; or to rage 

With sun-burnt Poesy whose throat breathes bare 
O'er leopard skins and flute among her groves. 



LATE OCTOBER. 

AH, haughty hills, sardonic solitudes, 
A What wizard touch hath, crowning you with gold, 
Cast Tyrian purple o'er broad-shouldered woods, 

And to your pride anointed empire sold 
For wan traditioned death, whose misty moods 

Shake each huge throne of quarried shadows cold ? 

Now where the agate-foliaged forests sleep, 
Bleak briars are ruby-berried, and the brush 

Flames — when the winds armsful of motion heap 
In wincing gusts upon it — amber blush ; 

The beech an inner beryle breaks from deep 
Encrusting topaz of a sullen flush. 

Dead gold, dead bronze, dull amethystine rose, 

Rose cameo, in day's gray, somber spar 
Of smoky quartz — intaglioed beauty — glows 

Luxuriance of color. Trunks that are 
Vast organs antheming the winds' wild woes 

A faded sun and pale night's paler star. 



86 LATE OCTOBER. 

Bulged from its cup the dark-brown acorn falls, 

And by its gnarly saucer in the streams 
Swells plumped ; and here the spikey spruce-gum balls 

Rust maces of an ouphen host that dreams; 
Beneath the chestnut the split burry hulls 

Disgorge fat purses of sleek satin gleams. 

Burst silver white, nods an exploded husk 

Of snowy, woolly smoke the milk-weed's puff 

Along the orchard's fence, where in the dusk 
And ashen weeds, — as some grim Satyr's rough 

Red, breezy cheeks burn thro' his beard, — the brusque 
Crab apples laugh, wind-tumbled from above. 

Runs thro' the wasted leaves the crickets' click, 
Which saddest coignes of Melancholy cheers ; 

One bird unto the sumach flits to pick 

Red, sour seeds ; and thro' the woods one hears 

The drop of gummy walnuts ; the railed rick 
Looms tawny in the field where low the steers. 

Some slim bud-bound Leimoniad hath flocked, 
The birds to Echo's shores, where flossy foams 

Boom low long cream-white cliffs. — Where once buzzed 
Unmillioned bees within unmillioned blooms, [rocked 

One hairy hummer cramps one bloom, frost mocked, — 
A miser whose rich hives squeeze oozing combs. 



LATE OCTOBER. 87 

Twist some lithe maple and right suddenly 
A leafy storm of stars about you breaks — 

Some Hamadryad's tears : Unto her knee 

Wading the Naiad clears her brook that streaks 

Thro' wadded waifs : Hark ! Pan for Helike 
Flutes melancholy by the minty creeks. 



AN ANEMONE. 

'T^EACH me the wisdom of thy beauty, pray, 
l That, being thus wise, I may aspire to see 
What beauty is, whence, why, and in what way 

Immortal, yet how mortal utterly : 
For, shrinking loveliness, thy brow of day 

Pleads plaintive as a prayer, anemone. 

" Teach me wood-wisdom, I am petulant : 
Thou hast the wildness of a Dryad's eyes, 

The shyness of an Oread's, wild plant : — 
Behold the bashful goddess where she lies 

Distinctly delicate ! — inhabitant 

Ambrosial-earthed, star-cousin of the skies. 

" Teach me thy wisdom, for, thro' knowing, yet, 
When I have drunk dull Lethe till each vein 

Thuds full oblivion, I shall not forget ; — 
For beauty known is beauty ; to sustain 

Glad memories with life, while mad regret 
And sorrow perish, being Lethe slain." 



AN ANEMONE. \ 

" Teach thee my beauty being beautiful 

And beauty wise? — My slight perfections, whole 

As world, as man, in their creation full 
As old a Power's cogitation roll. 

Teach thee? — Presumption ! thought is young and dull- 
Question thy God what God is, soul what soul." 



THE RAIN -CROW. 

THEE freckled August, dozing hot and blonde 
Oft 'neath a wheat-stack in the white-topped mead — 
In her full hair brown ox-eyed daisies wound — 
O water-gurgler, lends a sleepy heed : 
Half-lidded eyes a purple iron-weed 
Blows slimly o'er ; beyond, a path-found pond [grasses, 
Basks flint-bright, hedged with pink-plumed pepper- 
A coigne for vainest dragonflies, which glasses 
Their blue in diamond. 

Oft from some dusty locust, that thick weaves 
With crescent pulse-pods its thin foliage gray, 

Thou, — o'er the shambling lane, which past the sheaves 
Of sun-tanned oats winds, red with rutty clay, 

One league of rude rail-fence, — some panting day, 

When each parched meadow quivering vapor grieves, 
Nature's Astrologist, dost promise rain, 
In seeping language of the thirsty plain, 
Cool from the burning leaves. 



THE RAIN-CROW. 91 

And, in good faith, aye ! best of faith, art true ; 
And welcome that rune-chuckled forecasting, 

When up the faded fierceness of scorched blue 
Strong water-carrier winds big buckets bring, 
Black with stored freshness : how their dippers ring 

And flash and rattle ! lavishing large dew 

On tall, good-humored corn that, streaming wet, 

Laughs long ; while woods and leas, shut in a net 

Of mist, dream vague in view. 

And thou, safe-housed in some pawpaw bower 
Of close, broad, gold-green leaves, contented art 

In thy prediction, fall'n within the hour; 

While fuss the brown bees hiveward from the heart 
Of honey-filtering bloom ; beneath the cart 

Droop pompous barnyard cocks damped by the shower : 
And deep-eyed August, bonnetless, a beech 
Hugs in disheveled beauty, safe from reach 
On starry moss and flower. 



LOVELINESS. 



WHEN I fare forth to kiss the eyes of Spring, 
On ways, which arch gold sunbeams and pearl 
Embraced, two whispers we search — wandering [buds, 

By goblin forests and by girlish floods 

Deep in the hermit-holy solitudes — 
For stalwart Dryads romping in a ring; 

Firm limbs an oak-bark-brown, and hair — wild woods 
Have perfumed — loops of radiance; and they, 

Most coyly pleasant, as we linger by, 

Pout dimpled cheeks, more rose than rosiest sky, 
Honeyed ; and us good-hearted laughter fling 
Like far-out reefs that flute melodious spray. 

II. 

Then we surprise each Naiad ere she slips — 
Nude at her toilette — in her fountain's glass, 

With damp locks dewy, and large godlike hips 
Cool-glittering ; but discovered, when — alas ! 
From green, indented moss and plushy grass, — 



LOVELINESS. 93 

Her great eyes' pansy-black reproaching, — dips 
She white the cloven waters ere we pass : 

And a broad, orbing ripple makes to hide 

From our desirous gaze provoked what path 
She gleaming took; what haunt she bashful hath 

In minnowy freshness, where her murmurous lips 

Bubbling make merry 'neath the rocky tide. 

III. 

Oft do we meet the Oread whose eyes 

Are dew-drops where twin heavens shine confessed ; 
She, all the maiden modesty's surprise 

Blushing her temples, — to deep loins and breast 

Tempestuous, brown bewildering tresses pressed, — 
Stands one scared moment's moiety, in wise 

Of some delicious dream, then shrinks distressed, 
Like some weak wind that, haply heard, is gone, 

In rapport with shy Silence to make sound ; 

So, like storm sunlight, bares clean limbs to bound 
A thistle's flashing to a woody rise, 
A graceful glimmer up the ferny lawn. 

IV. 

Hear Satyrs and Sylvanus in sad shades 
Of dozy dells pipe : Pan and Fauns hark dance 

With rattling hoofs dim in low, mottled glades : 
Hidden in spice-bush-bowered banks, perchance, 
Mark Slyness waiting with an animal glance 



94 



LOVELINESS. 



The advent of some Innocence, who wades 
Thro' thigh-deep flowers, naked as Romance, 

In braided shadows, when two hairy arms 
Hug her unconscious beauty panting white; 
Till tearful terror, struggling into might, 

Beats the brute brow resisting ; yields and fades, 

Exhausted, to the grim Lust her rich charms. 



THE LAST SCION OF THE HOUSE 
OF CLARE. 

Year 13 . 



BARBICAN, bartizan, battlement, 
With the Abergavenny mountains blent, 
Look, from the Raglan tower of Gwent, 
My lord Hugh Clifford's ancient home 
Shows, clear morns of the Spring or Summer, 
Thrust out like thin flakes o' a silver foam 
From a climbing cloud, for the hills gloom glummer, 
Being shaggy with heath, yon. — I was his page ; 
A favorite then ; and he of that age 
When a man will love and be loved again, 
Or die in the wars or a monastery: 
Or toil till he stifle his heart's hard pain, 
Or drink, drug his hopes and his lost love bury. 
I was his page ; and often we fared 
Thro' the Clare desmene in Autumn hawking — 
If the baron had known how he would have glared 
From their bushy brows eyes dark with mocking ! 



9 6 THE LAST SCION OF THE HOUSE OF CLARE. 

— That last of the Strongbows, Richard, I mean — 

Had growled to his yeomen, " A score ! mount, Keene ! 

Forth and spit me this Clifford, or hang 

With his crop-eared page to the closest oak!" 

For he and the Cliffords had ever a fang 

In the other's side, . . . but I see him choke 

And strangle with wrath when his hawker told — 

If he told ! — how we met on that flowery wold 

His daughter, sweet Hortense of Clare, the day 

Her hooded tiercel its brails did burst 

To trail with its galling jesses away; 

An untrained haggard the falconer cursed, 

Vain whistled to lure ; when the eyas sped 

Slant, low and heavily overhead 

By us ; and Sir Hugh, — who had just then cast 

His peregrine fierce at a heron-quarry, — 

In his stirrups rising, thus — as it passed, 

By the jesses caught and to her did carry, 

Lingering slender and tall by a rose 

Whence she pulled the berries — But no two foes 

Her eyes and Sir Hugh's ! — And I swear each felt 

A song in their hearts! — For I heard him quaver 

Somewhat and then — by Mary! — he knelt! — 

And the Lady herself in her words did waver 

And wonder with smiles. Then daintily took 

The hawk on her fist where it pruned and shook 



THE LAST SCION OF THE HOUSE OF CLARE. 

Its callowness ragged, as Hugh did s'eize 

Softly the other hand long and white, — 

Reached forth to him craving him rise from his knees, - 

And mouthed with moist kisses an hundred quite. 

Tho' she blushed up burning, no frowned " Beware!" 

But seemed so happy! when crushing thro* — 

Her sturdy retainer with swarthy stare — 

The underwoods burst; and her maiden crew 

Drew near them naming her name, and came 

With leaves and dim Autumn blossoms aflame. — 

"Their words?" I know not! for how should I? — 

I paged my master but was no spy. 

Nothings, I think, as all lovers', you know; 

Yet how should I hear such whispered low, 

Quick by the wasted woodland yellow? 

When up thro' the brush thrashed that burly fellow 

With his ale-coarse face, and so made a pause 

In the pulse of their words, there my lord Sir Hugh 

Stood with the soil on his knee: No cause 

Had he — but his hanger he halfway drew — 

Then paused, thrust it clap in its sheath again 

And bowed to the Lady and strode away; 

Up, vault, on his steed — and we rode amain 

Gay to his towers that merry day. 

He loved and was loved, — why, I knew ! — for look, 
All other sports for the chase he forsook ; 
• 9 



97 



9 8 THE LAST SCION OF THE HOUSE OF CLARE. 

To ride in the Raglan marches and hawk 

And to hunt and to wander. And found a lair, 

In the Strongbow forest, of bush and of rock, 

Of moss and thick ferns ; where Hortense of Clare, 

How often I wis not, met him by chance — 

Perhaps ! — Sweet sorceress out of romance, 

Those tomes of Geoffrey — for she was fair ! 

Her large, warm eyes and hair, . . . ah, hair, 

How may one picture or liken it! 

With the golden gloss of its full brown, fit 

For the Viviane face of lovable white 

Beneath ; — like a star that a cloud of night 

Stops over to threaten but never will drench 

Its tremulous beauty with mists that quench. — 

Heigho ! — but they ceased, those meetings. I wot 
Watched of the baron, his menial crew; 
For she loved too well to have once forgot 
The place and the time of their trysting true. 
But she came not — ah ! and again came not: 
" Why and when f" would question Sir Hugh 
In his labored scrawls a crevice of rock — 
The lovers' post — in its coigne would lock. 
Until near Yule Love gat them again 
A twilight tryst — by frowardness sure. — 
They met. And that day was gray with rain — 



THE LAST SCION OF THE HOUSE OF CLARE. 

Or snow, and the wind did ever endure 
A long, bleak moaning thorough the wood, 
Smarted the cheek and chapped i' the blood; 
And a burne in the forest cried "sob and sob," 
And whimpered forever a chopping throb 
Thro' the rope-taunt boughs like a thing pursued. 
— And there it was that he learned how she 
(My faith ! how it makes me burn and quiver 
To think what a miserable despot he — 
Lord Richard Strongbow, aye and ever 
To his daughter was !) forsooth ! must wed 
With an Eastern Earl — some Lovell : one whom 
(That God in His mercy had smote him dead !) 
Hortense of Clare — but in baby bloom — 
Never had mirrored with maiden eyes. 
Sealed over a baby to strengthen some ties — 
Of power or wealth — had been bartered then 
And sold and purchased, and now . . . but when 
To her lover, the Clifford, she told this — there 
He had faced with his love the talons of Death — 
Only for her, who did stay with a stare 
Of reproach all his heat and say in a breath, 
" Is love, that thou sware to me aye and so often, 
To live too feeble or — how ? — doth it soften 
And weaken away and — to die ? — why die ? — 
Live and be strong! and this is why." — 



99 



loo THE LAST SCION OF THE HOUSE OF CLARE. 

Her words are glued here so ! .... I remember 
All as well as that sullen December, 
That blustered and bullied about them and 
Spat stiff its spiteful and cold-cutting snow 
Where they talked there dreamily hand in hand, 
While the rubbing boughs clashed rattling low. 
Her last words these, " By curfew sure 
On Christmas eve at the postern door." 

And we were there, and a void horse too : 

Armed: for a journey I hardly knew 

Whither, but why you well can guess. 

I could have uttered a certain name — 

Our comrade's sure — of what loveliness! 

Waited with love, impatience aflame. 

While Raglan bulged its baronial girth 

To roar to its battlements Yule and song ; 

Retainers loud rollicked in wassail and mirth 

Where the mistletoe 'round the vast hearths hung, 

And holly beberried the elden wall 

Of curious oak in the banqueting hall. 

And the spits, I trow, by the scullions turned 

O'er the snoring logs, rich steamed and burned 

With flesh ; where the whole wild-boar was roasted 

And the dun-deer flanks and the roebuck haunches ; 

Fat tuns of ale, that the cellars boasted, 



THE LAST SCION OF THE HOUSE OF CLARE. IO i 

Old casks of wine were broached for paunches 

Of the vassals that reveled in bower and stall ; 

Pale pages who diced and bluff henchmen who quarr'led 

Or swore in their cups, while lean mastiffs all, 

O'er bones of the feast in their kennels snarled ; 

For Hortense — drink ! drink ! — by the Virgin's leave, 

Were wed to this Lovell this Christmas Eve. 

"Was she long — Did she come?" . . . . By that post- 
ern we 
Like shadows lurked. Said my lord Sir Hugh : 
"Yon tower, remember ! — that casement, see ! — 
When a stealthy light in its slit burns blue 
And signals thrice slowly, thus — 'tis she." 
And about his person his gaberdine drew, 
For the wind it hugged and the snow beat thro'. 
Did she come ? — We had watched for an hour or twain 
Ere that light burned there in the central pane 
And was flourished thrice and departed so. 
Then closer we packed to the postern portal 
Horses and all in the stinging snow. 
Stiff with the cold was I. — Immortal 
Minutes we waited breath-bated and listened 
Shuddering there in the gusty gale. 
Whizzing o'er parapets sifted and glistened 
Wild drift, thro' battlements hissed in a veil. 



102 THE LAST SCION OF THE HOUSE OF CLARE. 

Quoth my lord Sir Hugh, for his love was a-heat, 

" She feels for the spring in the hidden panel 

'Neath the tapestry .... ah ! thou hast pressed it, sweet ! 

— How black gulps open the secret channel ! 

Now cautiously step, and thy bridal garb 

Swirled warm with a mantle o' fur. . . . she plants 

One foot — then a pause — on the stair — So, Barb, 

So ! — If the tempest that barks and pants 

Would throttle itself with its yelps ! then I 

Might hear but one footstep echo and sing 

Down the ugly. . . . there ! 'tis her fingers try 

The massy bolts which the rust makes cling." 

But ever some whim of the wind that shook 

The clanging ring of a creaking hook 

In the buttress or wall ; and we waited so 

Till the East grew gray. Did she come ? — ah, no ! 

I must tell you why, and enough : 'Tis said 

On the eve of the marriage she fled the side 

Of the baron, the bridegroom too she fled, 

With a mischievous laugh, "Til hide! Pllhide ! 

Seek ! and be sure to seek well !" and led 

A wild chase after her, but defied 

All search for — a score and ten more years, 

And the laughter of Yule was changed to tears, [glare 

But they searched and the snow was bleared with the 



THE LAST SCION OF THE HO USE OF CLARE. 

Of torches that hurried thro' chamber and stair; 
And tower and court re-echoed her name, 
But she laughed no answer and never came. 

So over the channel to France with his King 

And the Black Prince, sailed to the wars — to deaden 

The ache of the mystery — Hugh that Spring, 

And fell at Poitiers : for his loss lay leaden 

On hope, and his life was a weary sadness, 

So he flung it away with a very gladness. 

And the baron died — and the bridegroom, well, — 

Unlucky that bridegroom, sooth ! — to tell 

Of him there is nothing. The baron died; 

The last of the Strongbows he, gramercy ! 

And the Clare estate with its wealth and its pride 

Devolved to the Bloets, Walter or Percy. 

Ten years and a score thereafter. And they 
Ransacked the old castle and mark i— one day 
In a lonesome tower uprummaged a chest 
From Flanders, of sinister ebon, carved 
Sardonic with masks 'round an olden crest, 
Gargoyle faces distorted and starved : 
Fast fixed with a spring which they forced and lo ! 
When they opened it — ha, Hortense ! — or, no ! — 
Fantastic a skeleton jeweled and wreathed 



103 



104 THE LAST SCION OF THE HOUSE OF CLARE. 

With flowers of dust, and a minever 

About it hugged, which quaint richness sheathed 

Of a bridal raiment and lace with fur. 

— I'd have given such years of my life — yes, well ! — 

As were left me then so her lover, Hugh, 

For such time breathed as it took one to tell 

How she forever, deemed false, was true ! 

He'd have known how it was, " For, you see, in groping 

For the puny spring of that panel — hoping 

And fearing as nearer and nearer grew 

The boisterous scramble — why, out she blew 

Her windy taper and quick — in this chest 

Wary would lie for — a minute, mayhap, 

Till the hurry all passed ; but the death-lock pressed 

— Ere her heart was aware — with a hungry snap." 



ON THE JELLICO-SPUR. 

To my Friend, John Fox, Jr. 

YOU remember, the deep mist, — 
Climbing to the Devil's Den — 
Blue beneath us in the glen 

And above us amethyst, 

Throbbed and circled and away 
Thro' the wild-woods opposite, 
Torn and shattered, morning-lit, 

Scurried up a dewy gray. 

Vague as in Romance we saw 
From the fog one riven trunk, 
Its huge horny talons shrunk, 

Thrust a hungry dragon's claw. 

And we climbed two hours thro' 
The dawn-dripping Jellicoes, 
To that wooded rock that shows 

Undulating peaks of blue : 

The vast Cumberlands that sleep, 
Weighed with soaring forests, far 
To the concave welkin's bar, 



1 06 ON THE JELLICO-SP UR. 

Leagues on leagues of purple sweep. 

Range exalted over range 

Billowed their enormous spines, 
And we heard the priestly pines 

Hum the wisdom of their change. 

We were sons of Nature then ; 
She had taken us to her, 
Closer drawn by brier and burr, 

There on lonely Devil's Den. 

We were pupils of her moods : 
Taught the beauties of her loins 
In those bloom-anointed coignes, — 

Love in her eternal woods : 

How she bore or flower or bud ; 
Pithed the wiry sapling-oak ; 
In the long vine zeal awoke 

Aye to climb a leafy flood. 

Her waste fantasies of birth : 
Sponge-like exudations fair — 
Dainty fungi everywhere 

Bulging from the loamy earth. 

Coral-vegetable things ; 
Crystals clamily exhaled ; 
Bulbous, marble-ribbed and scaled, 

Vip'rous colored ; then close rings 

Of the Indian Pipe that cleft 



ON THE JELLICO-SPUR. 107 

Pink and white the woodland lax, — 

Blossoms of a natural wax 
The brown mountain-fairies left. 
We on that parched precipice, 

Stretched beneath the chestnuts' burrs, 

Breathed the balsam of the firs, 
Felt the blue sky like a kiss. 
Soft that heaven ; stainless as 

The grand woodlands lunging on, 

Wound majestic in the sun, 
Or as our devotion was ! 
Freedom sat there cragged we saw, 

Freedom whom hoarse forests sang; 

Heaven-browed her eyes, whence sprang 
Audience august with law. 
Wildernesses, from her hips 

Sprung the giant forests there, 

Tossed the cataracts from her hair, 
Thunders lightened from her lips. 
Oft some scavenger, with vane 

Motionless, above we knew 

Wheeled thro' altitudes of blue 
By his rapid shadow's stain. 
Or some cloud of sunny white, — 

Puffed a lazy drift of pearl, — 

Balmy breezes o'er would whirl 



lo S ON THE JELLICO-SP UR. 

Shot with coruscating light. 

So we dreamed an hour upon 

Those warm rocks, dry, lichen-scabbed. 
Lounged beneath long leaves that dabbed 

At us coins of shade and sun. 

Then arose and down some gorge 
Made a bowldered torrent broad 
The hurled pathway of our road 

Tumbled down the mountain large. 

At that farm-house, which you know, 
Where old-fashioned flowers spun 
Gay rag-carpets in the sun, 

By green apple-boughs built low, 

Rested from our hot descent ; 
One deep draught of cider cool, 
Unctuous, our fierce- veins to dull 

At old Hix's eloquent. . . . 

On Wolf Mountain died the light; 
A colossal blossom, rayed 
With rent petaled clouds that played 

'Round a calyxed fury bright. 

Down the moist mint-scented vale 
To the mining camp we turned, 
Thro' the twilight faint discerned 

With its crowded cabins pale. 

Ah ! those nights ! — We wandered forth 



ON THE JELLICO-SPUR. 109 

On some shadow-haunted path 

When the moon was late and rathe 
The large stars ; sowed south and north, 
Clustered bursting heavens down : 

And the milky zodiac, 

Rolled athwart the belted black, 
Myriad-million-moted shone. 
And in dreams we sauntered till 

In the valley pale beneath, 

From a dew-drop's vapored breath 
To faint ghosts, there gathered still, 
Grave creations weird of mist: 

Then we knew the moonrise near, 

As with necromance the air 
Pulsed to pearl and amethyst. 
Shrilled the insects of the dusk, 

Grated, buzzed and strident sung 

Till each leaf seemed tuned and strung 
For high Pixy music brusque. 
Stealing steps and stealthy sighs 

As of near unhallowed things, 

Rustled hair or fluttered wings, 
Seemed about us; then the eyes 
Of plumed phantom warriors 

Burned mesmeric from some bush 

Mournful in the goblin hush, 



IIO ON THE JELLICO-SPUR. 

Then materialized to stars. 

Mantled mists like ambushed braves, 

Chiefed by some swart Blackfoot tall, 

Stole along each forest wall — 
Phosphorescent moony waves. 
Then the moon rose; from some cup 

Each hill's bowl, — magnetic shine, 

Mist and silence poured like wine, — 
Brimmed a monster goblet up. 
Ingot from lost orient mines, 

Delved by humpbacked gnomes of Night, 

Full her orb loomed, nacreous white, 
O'er Pine Mountain's druid pines. 
As thro' fragmentary fleece 

Her circumference polished broke, 

Orey-seamed, about us woke 
Myths of Italy and Greece. 
Then — a chanson serenade — 

You, rich-voiced, to your guitar 

To our goddess in that star 
Sang "Ne Tempo" from the glade. 



SENORITA. 

AN agate black thy roguish eyes 
i\ Claim no proud lineage of skies, 
No velvet blue, but of sweet Earth, 
Rude, reckless witchery and mirth. 

Looped in thy raven hair's repose, 
A hot aroma, one tame rose 
Dies envious of that beauty where, — 
By being near which, — it is fair. 

Thy ears, — two dainty bits of song 
Of unpretending charm, which wrong 
Would jewels rich, whose restless fire 
Courts coarse attention, — such inspire. 

Slim hands, that crumple listless lace 
About thy white breasts' swelling grace, 
And falter at thy samite throat, 
To such harmonious efforts float. 

Seven stars stop o'er thy balcony 
Cored in taunt heaven's canopy; 
No moon flows up the satin night 
In pearl-pierced raiment spun of light. 



1 1 2 SEftORITA. 

From orange orchards dark in dew 
Vague, odorous lips the West wind blew, 
Or thou, a new Angelica 
From Ariosto, breath'd'st Cathay. 

Oh, stoop to me and speaking reach 
My soul like song, that learned low speech 
From some sad instrument, who knows? 
Or bloom, — a dulcimer or rose. 



LEANDER TO HERO. 

I. 

BROWS wan thro' blue-black tresses 
Wet with sharp rain and kisses ; 
Locks loose the sea-wind scatters, 
Like torn wings fierce for flight ; 
Cold brows, whose sadness flatters, 
One kiss and then — good-night. 

II. 

Can this thy love undo me 

When in the heavy waves? 
Nay; it must make unto me 

Their groaning backs but slaves ! 
For its magic doth indue me 

With strength o'er all their graves. 

III. 

Weep not as heavy-hearted 

Before I go ! For thou 
Wilt follow as we parted — 
A something hollow-hearted, 
10 



H4 



LEANDER TO HERO. 

Dark eyes whence cold tears started, 
Gray, ghostly arms out-darted 

To take me, even as now, 
To drag me, their weak lover, 
To caves where sirens hover, 
Deep caves the dark waves cover, 

Down ! throat and hair and brow. 

IV. 

But in thy sleep shalt follow — 

Thy bosom fierce to mine, 
Long arms wound warm and hollow,- 
In sleep, in sleep shalt follow, — 

To save me from the brine ; 

Dim eyes on mine divine ; 

Deep breath at mine like wine ; 
Sweet thou, with dream-soft kisses 

To dream me onward home, 
White in white foam that hisses, 

Love's creature safe in foam. 

V. 

What, Hero, else for weeping 
Than long, lost hours of sleeping 
And vestal-vestured Dreams, 
Where thy Leander stooping 



LEANDER TO HERO. 

Sighs ; no dead eyelids drooping ; 
No harsh, hard looks accusing ; 
No curls with ocean oozing ; 
But then as now he seems, 

Sweet-favored as can make him 
Thy smile, which is a might, 

A hope, a god to take him 
Thro' all this hell of night. 

VI. 

Then where thy breasts are hollow 

One kiss ! one kiss ! I go ! 
Sweet soul ! a kiss to follow 
Up whence thy breasts bud hollow, 
Cheeks than wood-blossoms whiter, 
Eyes than dark waters brighter 

Wherein the far stars glow. 
Look lovely when I leave thee! — 

I go, my love, I go ! 
Look lovely, love, nor grieve thee, 

That I must leave thee so. 



"5 



MUSAGETES. 

FOR the mountains' hoarse greetings came hollow 
From stormy wind-chasms and caves, 
And I heard their wild cataracts wallow 
Huge bulks in long spasms of waves, 
And that Demon said, u Lo! you must follow! 
And our path is o'er myriads of graves." 

Then I felt that the black earth was porous 
And rotten with worms and with bones ; 

And I knew that the ground that now bore us 
Was cadaverous with Death's skeletons ; 

And I saw horrid eyes, heard sonorous 
And dolorous gnashings and groans. 

But the night of the tempest and thunder, 

The might of the terrible skies, 
And the fire of Hell that, — coiled under 

The hollow Earth, — smoulders and sighs, 
And the laughter of stars and their wonder 

Mingled and mixed in its eyes. 



MUSAGETES. 

And we clomb — and the moon old and sterile 
Clomb with us o'er torrent and scar! 

And I yearned towards her oceans of beryl. 
Wan mountains and cities of spar — 

"'Tis not well," that one said, "you're in peril 
Of falling and failing your star." 

And we clomb — through a murmur of pinions, 
Thin rattle of talons and plumes; 

And a sense as of Boreal dominions 
Clove down to the abysms and tombs ; 

And the Night's naked, Ethiope minions 
Swarmed on us in legions of glooms. 

And we clomb — till we stood at the portal 
Of the uttermost point of the peak, 

And it led with a step more than mortal 
Far upward some presence to seek; 

And I felt that this love was immortal, 
This love which had made me so weak. 

We had clomb till the limbo of spirits 
Of darkness and crime deep below 

Swung nebular; nor could we hear its 
Lost wailings and moanings of woe, — 

For we stood in a realm that inherits 
A vanquishing virgin of snow. 



117 



THE QUARREL. 

COULD I divine how her gray eyes 
Gat such cold haughtiness of skies ; 

How, some wood-flower's shadow brown, 
Dimmed her fair forehead's wrath a frown ; 

How, rippled sunshine blown thro' air, 
Tossed scorn her eloquence of hair; 

How to a folded bud again 

She drew her blossomed lips' disdain ; 

Naught deigning save eyes' utterance, 
Star-words, which quicker reach the sense ; 

Then, afterwards, how melted there 
The austere woman to one tear ; 

Then were I wise to know how grew 

This star-stained miracle of blue, 

How God makes wild flowers out of dew. 



THE MOOD O' THE EARTH. 



M 



Y heart is high, is high, my dear, 
And the warm wind sunnily blows; 
My heart is high with a mood that 's cheer, 
And burns like a sun-blown rose. 



My heart is high, is high, my dear, 

And the Heaven's deep skies are blue ; 

My heart is high as the passionate year, 
And smiles like a bud in dew. 

My heart, my heart is high, my sweet, 
For wild is the smell o' the wood, 

That gusts in the breeze with a pulse o' heat, 
Mad heat that beats like a blood. 

My heart, my heart is high, my sweet, 
And the sense of summer is full ; 

A sense of summer, — full fields of wheat, 
Full forests and waters cool. 



I20 THE MOOD O' THE EARTH. 

My heart is high, is high, my heart, 
As the bee's that groans and swinks 

In the dabbled flowers that dart and part 
To his woolly bulk when he drinks. 

My heart is high, is high, my heart, — 
Oh, sing again, O good, gray bird, 

That I may get that lilt by heart, 
And fit each note with a word. 

God's saints ! I tread the air, my dear! 

Flow one with the running wind; 
And the stars that stare I swear, my dear, 

Right soon in my hair I'll find. 

To live high up a life of mist 

With the white things in white skies, 

With their limbs of pearl and of amethyst, 
Who laugh blue humorous eyes! 

Or to creep and to suck like an elfin thing 
To the aching heart of a rose ; 

In the harebell's ear to cling and swing 
And whisper what no one knows ! 

To live on wild honey as fresh as thin 
As the rain that's left in a flower, 

And roll forth golden from feet to chin 
In the god-flower's Danae shower! 



THE MOOD 0' THE EARTH. 

Or free, full-throated curve back the throat 
With a vigorous look at the blue, 

And sing right staunch with a lusty note 
Like the hawk hurled where he flew ! 

God's life ! the blood of the Earth is mine ! 

And the mood of the Earth I'll take, 
And brim my soul with her wonderful wine, 

And sing till my heart doth break I 



121 



II 



A GRAY DAY. 



]. 



10NG vollies of wind and of rain 
j And the rain on the drizzled pane, 
And the eve falls chill and murk ; 
But on yesterday's eve I know 
How a horned moon's thorn-like bow 
Stabbed rosy thro' gold and thro' glow, 
Like a rich barbaric dirk. 



II. 



Now thick throats of the snapdragons,- 
Who hold in their hues cool dawns, 

Which a healthy yellow paints, — 
Are filled with a sweet rain fine 
Of a jaunty, jubilant shine, 
A faery vat of rare wine, 

Which the honey thinly taints. 



A GRAY DAY. x ^ 

III. 

Now dabble the poppies shrink, 
And the coxcomb and the pink; 

While the candytuft's damp crown 
Droops dribbled, low bowed i' the wet; 
And long spikes o' the mignonette 
Little musk-sacks open set, 

Which the dripping o' dew drags down. 

IV. 
Stretched taunt on the blades of grass, 
Like a gossamer-fibered glass, 

Which the garden-spider spun, 
The web, where the round rain clings 
In its middle sagging, swings; — 
A hammock for Elfin things 

When the stars succeed the sun. 

V. 
And mark, where the pale gourd grows 
Up high as the clambering rose, 

How that tiger-moth is pressed 
To the wide leaf's underside.— 
And I know where the red wasps hide, 
And the wild bees, — who defied 

The first strong gusts,— distressed. 



124 



A GRAY DAY. 



VI. 



Yet I feel that the gray will blow 
Aside for an afterglow ; 

And a breeze on a sudden toss 
Drenched boughs to a pattering show'r 
Athwart the red dusk in a glow'r, 
Big drops heard hard on each flow'r 

On the grass and the flowering moss. 

VII. 

And then for a minute, may be, — 
A pearl — hollow worn — of the sea, — 

A glimmer of moon will smile; 
Cool stars rinsed clean on the dusk, 
A freshness of gathering musk 
O'er the showery lawns, as brusk 

As spice from an Indian isle. 



CARMEN. 

LA Gitanilla! tall dragoons 
/ In Andalusian afternoons, 
With ogling eye and compliment 
Smiled on you, as along you went 
Some sleepy street of old Seville ; 
Twirled with a military skill 
Moustaches ; buttoned uniforms 
Of Spanish yellow bowed your charms. 

Proud, wicked head and hair blue-black ! 
Whence your mantilla, half thrown back, 
Discovered shoulders and bold breast 
Bohemian brown : and you were dressed — 
In some short skirt of gipsy red 
Of smuggled stuff; thence stockings dead 
White silk exposed with many a hole 
Thro' which your plump legs roguish stole 
A fleshly look : and tiny toes 
In red morocco shoes with bows 
Of scarlet ribbons. Daintily 



126 CARMEN. 

You walked by me and I did see 
Your oblique eyes, your sensuous lip, 
That gnawed the rose you once did flip 
At bashful Jose's nose while loud 
Laughed the guant guards among the crowd. 
And, in your brazen chemise thrust, 
Heaved with the swelling of your bust, 
That bunch of white acacia blooms 
Whiffed past my nostrils hot perfumes. 

As in a cool neveria 

I ate an ice with Merimee, 

Dark Carmencita, you passed gay, 

All holiday bedizened, 

A new mantilla on your head ; 

A crimson dress bespangled fierce ; 

And crescent gold, hung in your ears, 

Shone wrought Morisco ; and each shoe 

Cordovan leather, spangled blue, 

Glanced merriment ; and from large arms 

To well-turned ancles all your charms 

Blew fiutterings and glitterings 

Of satin bands and beaded strings ; 

And 'round each arm's fair thigh one fold, 

And graceful wrists, a twisted gold 

Coiled serpents, tails fixed in the head, 

Convulsive-jeweled glossy red. 



CARMEN. 

In flowers and trimmings to the jar 

Of mandolin and low guitar 

You in the grated patio 

Danced ; the curled coxcombs' flirting row 

Rang pleased applause. I saw you dance, 

With wily motion and glad glance 

Voluptuous, the wild romalis, 

Where every movement was a kiss 

Of elegance delicious, wound 

In your Basque tambourine's dull sound. 

Or as the ebon castanets 

Clucked out dry time in unctuous jets, 

Saw angry Jose thro' the grate 

Glare on us a pale face of hate, 

When some indecent colonel there 

Presumed too lewdly for his ear. 

Some still night in Seville ; the street, 
Candilejo ; two shadows meet — 
Flash sabres; crossed within the moon, — 
Clash rapidly — a dead dragoon. 



127 



DISENCHANTMENT OF DEATH. 

HUSH ! She is dead ! Tread gently as the light 
Foots dim the weary room. Thou shalt behold. 
Look : — In death's ermine pomp of awful white, 
Pale passion of pulseless slumber virgin cold : 
Bold, beautiful youth proud as heroic Might — 
Death ! and how death hath made it vastly old. 

Old earth she is now : energy of birth 

Glad wings hath fledged and tried them suddenly ; 

The eyes that held have freed their narrow mirth ; 
Their sparks of spirit, which made this to be, 

Shine fixed in rarer jewels not of earth, 
Far Fairylands beyond some silent sea. 

A sod is this whence what were once those eyes 
Will grow blue wild-flowers in what happy air; 

Some weed with flossy blossoms will surprise, 
Haply, what summer with her affluent hair ; 

Blush roses bask those cheeks ; and the wise skies 
Will know her dryad to what young oak fair. 



DISENCHANTMENT OF DEATH. 129 

The chastity of death hath touched her so, 

No dreams of life can reach her in such rest ; — 

No dreams the mind exhausted here below, 
Sleep built within the romance of her breast. 

How she will sleep! like musick quickening slow 
Dark the dead germs, to golden life caressed. 

Low musick, thin as winds that lyre the grass, 
Smiting thro' red roots harpings ; and the sound 

Of elfin revels when the wild dews glass 
Globes of concentric beauty on the ground; 

For showery clouds o'er tepid nights that pass 

The prayer in harebells and faint foxgloves crowned. 

So, if she's dead, thou know'st she is not dead. 

Disturb her not; she lies so lost in sleep : 
The too-contracted soul its shell hath fled : 

Her presence drifts about us and the deep 
Is yet unvoyaged and she smiles o'erhead : — 

Weep not nor sigh — thou wouldst not have ^rweep? 

To principles of passsion and of pride, 

To trophied circumstance and specious law, 

Stale saws of life, with scorn now flung aside, 

From Mercy's throne and Justice would'st thou draw 

Her, Hope in Hope, and Chastity's pale bride, 
In holiest love of holy, without flaw ? 



13° 



DISENCHANTMENT OF DEATH. 



The anguish of the living merciless, — 
Mad, bitter cruelty unto the grave, — 

Wrings the dear dead with tenfold heart's distress, 
Earth chaining love, bound by the lips that rave. 

If thou hast sorrow let thy sorrow bless 

That power of death, of death our selfless slave. 

"Unjust?" — He is not ! for hast thou not all, 
All that thou ever hadst when this dull clay 

So heartless, blasted now, flushed spiritual, 
A restless vassal of Earth's night and day ? 

This hath been thine and is ; the cosmic call 
Hath disenchanted that which might not stay. 

Thou unjust ! — bar not from its high estate, — 
Won with what toil thro' devastating cares : 

What bootless battling with the violent Fate ; 
What mailed endeavor with resistless years ; — 

That soul : — whole-hearted granted once thy mate, 
Heaven only loaned, return it not with tears ! 



THE THREE URGANDAS. 

CAST on sleep there came to me 
Three Urgandas ; and the sea 
In lost lands of Briogne 

Sounded moaning, moaning: 
Cloudy clad in awful white ; 
And each face a lucid light 
Rayed and blossomed out of night, — 
And a wind was groaning. 

In my sleep I saw them rest, 
Each a long hand at her breast, 
A soft flame that lulls the West ; — 

And the sea was moaning, moaning ; - 
Hair like hoarded ingots rolled 
Down white shoulders glossy gold, 
Streaks of molten moonlight cold, — 

And a wind was groaning. 

Rosy 'round each high brow bent 
Four-fold starry gold that sent 
Barbs of fire redolent ; — 

And the sea was moaning, moaning ;- 
'Neath their burning crowns their eyes 
Burned like southern stars the skies 
Rock in shattered storm that flies, — 

And a wind was groaning. 



132 



THE THREE URGANDAS. 

Wisdom's eyes of lurid dark; 
And each red mouth like a spark 
Flashed and laughed off care and cark, — 

And the sea was moaning, moaning ; — 
Mouths for song and lips to kiss ; 
Lips for hate and mouths to hiss ; 
Lips that fashioned hell or bliss, — 

And the wind was groaning. 

Tall as stately virgins dead, 

Tapers lit at feet and head, 

'Round whom Latin prayers are said, — 

And the sea was moaning, moaning ; — 
Or as vampire women, who, 
Buried beauties, rise and woo 
Youths whose blood they suck like dew, — 

And a wind was groaning. 

Then the west one said to me : 
" Thou hast slept thus holily 
While seven sands ran secretly." — 

And the sea was moaning, moaning ; — 
" Earth hath served thee like a slave, 
Serving us who found thee brave, 
Fearless of or life or grave." — 
And a wind was groaning. 



THE THREE URGANDAS. 133 

'* Know !" — she smote my brow ; a pain, 
Riddling arrows, rent my brain, 
Ceased and earth fell, some vast strain ; — 
And the sea was moaning, moaning ; — 
Then I understood all thought ; 
What was life the spirit fraught ; 
Love and hate ; how worlds were wrought : — 
And a wind was groaning. 

Then the east one said to me : 
" Thou hast wandered wearily 
By what mist-enveloped sea !" — 

And the sea was moaning, moaning ; — 
" Know the things thou hast not seen ; 
Life and law, and love and teen ; 
Things that be and have not been." — 
And the wind was groaning. 

"See !" her voice sung like a lyre 
Throbs of thunderous desire ; 
Then the iron sight like fire — 

And the sea was moaning, moaning ; — 
Burst ; the inner eyelids, which 
Husked clairvoyance, with a twitch 
Rose — and I with light was rich ; — 

And a wind was groaning. 



134 



THE THREE URGANDAS. 

Then I saw the eyes of Sleep ; 
Nerves of Life and veins that leap ; 
Laws of entity ; the deep : — 

And the sea was moaning, moaning; — 
Orbs and eons ; springs of Power ; 
Circumstance — blown like a flower; — 
Time — the second of an hour : — 

And the wind was groaning. 

To the central third one's full 

Balanced being beautiful 

Heart, to hearken, made a lull, — 

And the sea was moaning, moaning; — 
As she sternly stooped to me : 
" Thou dost know and thou canst see ; 
What thou art arise and be!" — 
And the wind was groaning. 

To my mouth hot lips she pressed ; 
And my famished soul, thrice blessed, 
Quaffed her radiance and caressed : — 

And vague seas were moaning, moaning 
Mounted ; star-vibrating fled ; 
Soared to love, with her who said : 
" Thou dost live and thou art dead." — 

Far off winds were groaning. 



THE BRUSH SPARROW. 



ERE wild haws, looming in the glooms, 
Build bolted drifts of breezy blooms; 
And in the whistling hollow there 
The red-bud bends as brown and bare 
As buxom Roxy's up-stripped arm ; 
From some slick hickory or larch, 
Sighed o'er the sodden meads of March, 
The sad heart thrills and reddens warm 
To hear thee braving the rough storm, 
Frail courier of green-gathering powers, — 
Rebelling sap in trunks and flowers; 
Love's minister come heralding; 
O sweet saint-voice among bleak bowers ! — 
Thou brown-red pursuivant of Spring! 

II. 

"Moan " sob the woodland cascades still 

Down bloomless ledges of the hill; 

And gray, gaunt clouds like harpies hang 



1 3 6 THE BR USH SPARR O W. 

In harpy heavens, and swoop and clang 
Sharp beaks and talons of the wind : 
Black scowl the forests, and unkind 
The far fields as the near ; while song 
Seems murdered and all passion, wrong. 
One wild frog only in the thaw 
Of spawny pools wakes cold and raw, 
Expires a melancholy bass 
And stops as if bewildered ; then 
Along the frowning wood again, 
Flung in the thin wind's fangy face, 
Thou, in red, woolly tassels proud 
Of bannered maples, fiutest loud : 
"Her Grace! her Grace! her Grace!" 



III. 

"Her Grace! her Grace 1 her Grace!" 
Climbs beautiful and sunny-browed 
Up, up the kindling hills and wakes 
Blue berries in the berry brakes; 
With fragrant flakes, that blow and bleach, 
Deep powders smothered quince and peach ; 
Eyes dogwoods with a thousand eyes; 
Teaches each sod how to be wise 
With twenty wild-flowers for one weed; 



THE BRUSH SPARROW. 137 

And kisses germs that they may seed. 

In purest purple and sweet white 

Treads up the happier hills of light ; 

Bloom, cloudy-borne, song in her hair, 

Long dew-drops her pale fingers fair : 

Big wind-retainers, and the rains 

Her yeomen strong that flash the plains ; 

While scarlet mists at dawn, — and gold 

At eve, — her panoply enfold. — 

Her herald tabarded behold ! — 

Awake to greet! prepare to sing! 

She comes, the darling Duchess, Spring!" 



12 



CHORDS. 



I. 



SLEEP while I sing to thee, Dulcinea, — 
How like a shower of moonlight-crusted beams 
Of textile form compact, whose veins run stars, — 
Discovered goddess of what naked loves ! — 
Maiden of dreams and aromatic sleep, 
Thou liest. Thy long instrument against 
Thy god-voluptuous sensuousness of hip 
Pure iridescent pearl of ocean slopes : 
Tempestuous silent color-melodies 
Pulse glimmering from it beaten by the moon, — 
Soft songs the white hands of white shadows touch. — 
Magnetic star set slumberous over night, 
Watch with me this superior star of Earth 
Good Heaven was kind to grant me : Trembler, 
Like some soft bird, dream, while I sing to thee — 
Dream, languid ardor, my Dulcinea, dream. 



CHORDS. 139 



II. 



FLOATS a wild chant of morning from the hills; 
Bursts a broad song of sunlight on the sea ; 
High Heaven throbs strung with rays of chords and 
Life's resonant pseans to Earth's minstrelsy. [thrills, 
Bind thou swift sandals on of youth, 
My love, and harp to me of truth 
In lands of joy or ruth. 

Now sheer o'er solitudes of noon the strife 

Of chariot fierce by chariot scintillant 
Flames, and the blade-bare charioteers for life, 

O'er-bent, close-curled, goad their hot yokes that pant. 
Haste not, my love, but from the beam 
Beside this olive-frosty stream 
Sing while I rest and dream. 

What swart Penthesilea, Amazon, 

Hath, smitten, hurled her shield, that crescent there ; 
To wrench the barbed arrow leaned, — voiced one 
Defiant shout, breathed her red life in air. — 
Tho' life be close to sunset, lo, 
Into the sunset let us go 
Still lyring joy not woe. 



140 



CHORDS. 



How swims the Night thro' the deep-oceaned sky! 
How at pale lips blown stars like bubbles break, 
Burn, streamed from showery locks she tosses high ! — 
A stronger swimmer, Death, glares in her wake. — 
Cast, love, ah cast thy harp away ! 
Aweary am I of thy lay — 
Kneel down by me and pray. 



CHORDS. 



141 



III. 



WHEN love delays, when love delays and Joy 
Steals a strange shadow o'er the happy hills, 
And Hope smiles from To-morrow, nor fulfills 
One promise of To-day, thy sight would cloy 
This soul with loved despair 
By seeing thee so fair. 

When love delays, when love delays and song 
Aches at wild lips regretful, as the sound 
Of a whole sea strives in the shell-mouth bound, 
Tho' Hope smiles still to-morrowed, all this wrong 
Would, at one little word, 
Leap forth for thee a sword. 

When love delays, when love delays and sleep 
Nests in dark eyeballs, like a song of home 
Heard 'mid familiar flowers o'er the foam, 
Tho' Hope smiles still to-morrowed, thou wouldst steep 
This hurt heart overmuch 
In balm with "one true touch. 



142 



CHORDS. 



When love delays, when love delays and Sorrow 
Drinks her own tears that fever her soul's thirst, 
And song, and sleep, and memory seem accurst, 
For Hope smiles still to-morrowed, I would borrow 
One smile from thee to cheer 
The weary, weary year. 

When love delays, when love delays and Death [night, 
Hath sealed dim lips and mocked young eyes with 
To love or hate locked calm, indifferent quite, — 
Hope's star-eyed acolyte, — what kisses' breath, 
What joys can slay regret 
Or teach thee to forget ! 



CHORDS. 



IV. 



H3 



THOU hast not loved her, hast not as thou shouldst, 
O narrow heart, that could not grasp so wide ! 
And tho' thy oaths seemed oaths yet they have lied, 
And thy caresses, kisses were — denied — 
Thou hast not loved her, hast not as thou couldst. 

Thou hast not loved her, hast not as thou shouldst ; 
O shallow eyes, that could not image deep! — 
Enough ! what boots it tho' ye weep and weep? 
Her sleep is deep, too deep ! so let her sleep — 

Thou hast not loved her, hast not as thou couldst. 

Thou hast not loved her, hast not as thou shouldst; 
For hadst thou, that confluent night and day 
Had in oblivion currents borne away 
Not one alone — but coward ! thou didst stay — 

Thou hast not loved her, hast not as thou couldst! 



144 



CHORDS. 



V. 



OLIFE, thou hast no power left to strive, 
Life, who, upon wild mountains of Surprise, 
Behold'st Love's citadelled, tall towers rise, — 
Shafts of clear, Paphian waters poured that live. 

O Hope, who sought'st fulfillment of deep dreams 
Beyond those Caucasus of Faith and Truth, — 
Twixt silver realms of eld and golden youth 

Rolled, — cloudward clustered; whose sonorous streams, 

Urned in the palms of Death, gush to his feet : 
Unlovely beauty of sad, stirless sight 
Mixed in them with eternity of night ; — 

O Hope, how sad the journey once so sweet ! 

Dreams crowned with thorns have passed thee on the way; 

And Beauties with bare limbs red-bruised and torn ; 

Tall, holy Hours their eyes dull, wan and worn, 
Slaves manacled whom lashed the brutal Day. 

And Sorrow sat beside a sea so wide, 

That shoreless Heaven unto one little star 
Upon the brink of night seems not so far, 

And on her feet the frail foams tossing sighed. 



CHORDS. I45 

She, her rent hair, dressed like a siren's, full 
Of weedy waifs and strays of moaning shells, 
Streaked with the glimmering sands and foamy bells, 

Loomed a pale utterance most beautiful. 

" And thou shalt love me, Sorrow !" I ; but she 
Turned her vast eyes upon me and no more ; 
Their melancholy language clove the core 

Of my fast heart ; and in mine ears the sea 

Along gaunt crags yearned iron-husky grief; 

Groaned the hard headlands with the wings of Storm, 
Huge thunder shook the foot-hills and Alarm 

Gnashed her thin fangs from hissing reef to reef. 

So to the hills aweary I did turn. — ■. 

Beyond, a reach of sunlight and slim flowers ; 

Where Hope, an amaranth, and tearless Hours, 
Long lilies, lived, whose hearts stiff gold did burn. 

And there curled Joy clinked their chaste chalices ; 

Distilled at dusk, poured bubbling dewy wine, 

Divine elixir! off his lips divine 
Tossed the fleet rapture to the golden lees, 

And so lolled dazed with pleasure. And I said, 
" Yield me the lily thou hast drained that I 
This hollow thirst may kill and so not die?" 

To me he laughed, " I yield it !" — but 'twas dead. 

13 



146 



CHORDS. 



And each blown reach and eminence of blooms 
Flushed long, low, gurgling murmurs like a sea, 
And laughed bright lips that flashed white teeth of glee 

In pearly flower on flower ; pure perfumes 

Gasped the rolled fields ; and o'er the eminence 
I journeyed joyless thro' a blossom-fire 
That, budding kisses curled with blown desire, 

Clasped me and claimed me tho' I spurned it hence. 

Then came unto a land of thorns and weeds, 
And dust and thirst o'er which a songless sky, 
Hoarse with lean vultures, scowled a scoffing lie, 

Where cold snakes hissed among dead, rattling reeds. 

And there I saw the bony brow of Hate ; 

Vile, vicious sneers, the eyes of shriveled Scorn 
Among the writhing briers ; each a thorn 

Of cavernous hunger barbed with burning fate. 

They, thro' her face-drawn locks of raveled dark, 
Stung a stark horror ; and I felt my heart 
Freeze, wedged with ice, to dullness part by part, 

And knew Hate coiled toward me yet stood stark — 

Fell ; seeing on the happy, happy hills, 
Above that den of dust and thorny thirst, 
The bastioned walls of Love in glory burst, 

Built by sweet glades of Poesy and rills. 



CHORDS. 



147 



O Life, I had not life enough to strive ! 

O Hope, I had not hope enough to dream ! 

Death drew me to him and to sigh did seem, 
" Love ? Love ? — thou canst not reach her and yet live 

" For sorrow, joy, and hate, and scorn are bound 
About thee, girdling so, thy lips are dumb; 
And Fame, ah Fame ! her towers are but a tomb — 

Star-set on dwindling heights of starry ground. 

" And thou art done and being done must die, 
Endeavor being dead and energy 
Slain, a wild bird that beat bars to be free, 

Despairing perished, finding life a lie." 



148 CHORDS. 



VI. 



IF thou wouldst know the Beautiful that breathes 
Consanguined with young Earth, go seek! — but seek 
No sighing Shadows with dead hemlock-wreaths, 

No sleepy Sorrows whose wan eyes are weak 
With vanished vigils, Melancholy made, 
Forlorn, in lands of sin and saddening shade; 
No tearful Angers torn of truthless Love, 

Who stab their own hearts to dull daggers' hilts 
For vengeance sweet; no miser Moods that fade 
In owlet towers. Such it springs above, 

And buds on morning meads no flower that wilts. 

If thou dost seek the Beautiful, beware ! 

Lest thou discover her, nor know 'tis she ; 
And she enslave thee evermore, and there 

Reward thee with but kingliest beggary: 
Make thine the robust red her cheek that stings ; 
The kiss-sweet odor, thine, her wild breath brings; 
Make thine the broad bloom of her crowned brow; 

The hearts of light that ardor her proud eyes ; 
That melody, — which is herself, — that sings 
The poem of her presence and the vow, 

That stars exalts and mortals deifies. 



CHORDS. 



149 



Lone art thou then, lone as the lone first star 

Kindling pale beauty o'er the mournful wave; 
Lost to all happiness save searching far 

Thro' lands of Life where Death hath delved no grave: 
Lost, — even as I, — a devotee to her, 
Poor in world-blessedness her bliss to share, 
But rich in passion. — For her hermitage 

Hope no Hydaspes' splendor, for it lies 
Mossy by woody waters hidden, where 
She, priestess pure, wise o'er all Wisdom sage, 

Shrines artists' hearts for godliest sacrifice. 



i5° 



CHORDS. 



VII. 



THEN up the orient heights to the zenith that bal- 
anced a crescent, — 

Up and far up and over, — a warm erubescence liques- 
cent 

Rioted roses and rubies; eruptions of opaline gems, 

Flung and wide sown, blushed crushed, and crumbled 
from diadems 

Wealth of the kings of the Sylphs ; whence, old alche- 
mist, Earth — 

Dewed down — by chemistry occult fashions petrified 
waters of worth. — 

Then out of the stain and rash furor, the passionate pul- 
ver of stone, 

The trembling suffusion that dazzled and awfully shone, 

Chamelion-convulsion of color, hilarious ranges of 
glare — 

Like a god who for vengeance ires, nodding battle from 
every hair, 

Fares forth with majesty girdled and clangs with hot 
heroes for life, 

Till the brazen gates boom bursten hells and the walls 
roar bristling strife, — 



CHORDS. I5I 

Athwart with a stab of glittering fire, in-plunged like a 

knife, 
Cut billowing gold, in bullion rolled, and an army driven, 
Routed, the stars fled shriveled ; and the white moon 

riven, 
Puffed, — like a foam-feather forth of a Triton's conch 

when sounded, — 
Clung, vague as a web, on heaven ; then weak as a face 

that is wounded 
Died on the withering clouds and sorrowed with them 

and mingled. 
While up and up with a steadiness and triumph of spar- 
kle that tingled, 
Wrestled the tempest of Dawn, that hurricaned heaven 

with spangle, 
And halcyon bloom like mercy, — a shatter, a scatter, a 

tangle 
Of labyrinthed glory. — O God ! with manifold mirth 
The hallelujah of Heaven, hosanna of Earth. 



And I in my vision imprisoned was restless and wan 

With a yearning for vigor to gird and be gone 

Out of false dreams to the true — realities noble of dawn. 



152 C FIORDS. 



VIII. 



VANISHING visions, whose lineaments steal into 
slumbers, 
Loosened the lids of the sight the night that encumbers ; 
Secretly, sweetly with fingers of fog that were slow, 
Slow as a song that mysterious 
Passions the soul, till delirious, 
Wrapped in mad melody mastering the uttermost woe, 
Deep to the innermost deep it is shaken 
Ruffled and rippled and tossed, 
Tantalized, terrorized, cursed with a thirst that, unslaken, 
Debauches with eyes that burn stolid, yet only shall 
waken 

With infinite scorn of the cost 
If no note of the rhapsody's lost. 

2. 

Oh, for the music of moonbeams that master and sweep 

Chords of the resonant deep ! 
Smiting loud lyres of Night, sonorous as fire, 
Leap fluttering fingers of vanquishing flash and of flake 
Fain at each firmament-universe-instrument star-strung. 
Vibrating-vestured in garments of woven desire, 



CHORDS. 153 

Stoop to me, breathe on me, smile on me, waver, " Awake! 
From waking to sleeping, to silence from manifold clamor, 
To revelous regions of multiform glamour ! " 

Murmur and whisper "Awake /" 
Oh, necromance banquets by fountains of fairy, the spar- 
sprung! 
Oh, sorcerous beauties and wonders of wizards! oh take 

The millions of morning-spun gleams, 

All glitters of galloping streams, 
The glimmer the gasp the clutch and the grasp, 
That colorless crystals and virtuous jewels 

As spasmodic fuels 

Cuddle and huddle and clasp : 
The wrinkle and crinkle of scintillant heat in white 

metals ; 
The quiver of terrible gold and the pearly 
Lithe brilliance of soft, holy petals, 
Of slender, sad blossoms, tumultuous tossed crispy and 

curly 
In shadowy reaches of violet dark ; 
The burn of the stars and the spark 
Fragile of foams that are fluted, to make 

One cordial of dreams 

To drink and to sink 
Deep, deep into dreams nor awake. 



154 



CHORDS. 



IX 



AS to a Nymph in the ripple-ribbed body of ocean, 
i\ Down, down thro' vast stories of water, a hiss and de- 
Electrify altitudes orbed, — pulses violent motion [vour 
Of Thunder, who treads the brute neck of the seas in 

his power, 
Till their spine writhes lumped into waves, — the Nymph 

in her bower, 
Rubbing moist sleep from her eyes, arises, — 

Loosens the loops of her locks, 
Loosens, and suddenly darts on the storm and surprises 

The boisterous bands of the rocks, 
That hoot to the the riddling arrows of rain and of seas, 
Mountainous these; — 
Swirling and whirling, 
She of the huge exultation beheld, with long tresses, 
Dotted with bells of the hollow, hard foam, flung stream- 
ing, 
Dives, bounds to the whirlwind embracing; then mock- 
ingly presses 
Hair to wild face and wild throat, drifts desolate dream- 
ing; 



CHORDS. 



155 



With scorn then laughing and screaming, 
Discovers full beauty of nakedness leaping and gleam- 
ing; 
And showering the rain from her hair, 
Pouts blown, curdled foam from her lips, 

And eddying slips, 
From the ravenous eyes of the Thunder that glare, 

Away, away, 
To the arms of her lover the Spray. 

So I — 
At swift thoughts that were spoken, that came 
As if winds had fashioned a speech — was a flame 
That dwindled, was kindled, then mounted and, 

Marvelling why, — 
Stemming all thought, a gleam out of gleams 

Was born into dreams. 



Beautiful-bosomed, O Night ! with thy moon, 
Move in majesty slowly to majesty lightly! 
Silent as sleep, who is lulled by a delicate tune, 
O'er-stroke thou the air with a languor of moonlight 

brightly ! 
Thin ice, in sockets of turquoise fastened, the stars 
Gash golden the bosom of heaven with fiery scars. 



156 CHORDS. 

Swoon down, O shadowy hosts, 

O multitude ghosts, 
Of the moonlight and starlight begotten ! — Then swept 
Whispers that sighed to me, sorrows that stealthily hov- 
ered, 
Laughters with lips that were mist. And murmurings 

crept 
On toward me feet that were glow ; and faces uncovered, 

Radiant and crystalline clear, 
In tortuous, sinuous swirl of vapory pearl, 

Waned near and more near. 
Flashed faster a spiral of shapes and of shadows still 

faster, 
On in a whirl of unutterable beauties by music expired, 

That lived and desired, — 
Born births of the brain of a rhapsody-reveling master; 

And mine eyes, with their beauties infired, 
Smiled scorn on dark Death and Disaster. 



CHORDS. 157 



X. 



" AH ! now tl 
i\ Drip n< 



L H ! now the orchard's leaves are sear, 
ip not with starlight-litten dew; 
Green-drowned no moon-bright fruit hangs here; 
Dead, dead your long, white lilies too — 
And you, Allita, where are you ! " 

Then comes her dim touch, faintly warm; 
Cool hair sense on my feverish cheek; 

Dim eyes at mine deep with some charm, — 
So gray ! so gray ! and I am weak 
Weak with wild tears and can not speak. 

I am as one who walks with dreams: 
Sees as in youth his father's home; 

Hears from his native mountain-streams 
Far music of continual foam. 



DEAD AND GONE. 

I 

1WOT well o' his going 
To think in flowers fair ; — 
His a right kind heart, my dear, 
To give the grass such hair. 

II. 

I wot well o' his lying 

Such nights out in the cold, — 
To list the cricket's crick, my sweet, 

To see the glow-worm's gold. 

III. 

An mine eyes be laughterful, 
Well may they laugh, I trow, — 

Since two dead eyes a yesternight 
Gazed in them sad enow. 

IV. 

An my heart make moan and ache, 
Well may it dree, I'm sure; — 

He is dead and gone, my love, 
And it is beggar poor. 



A MABINOGI. 

IN samite sark yclad was she; 
And that fair glimmerish band of gold 
Which crowned long, savage locks of hair 
In the moon brent cold. 

She with big eyeballs gloomed and glowered, 

And lightly hummed some Elfin's song, 
And one could naught save on her stare 
And fare along. 

Yea ; sad and lute-like was that song 

And softly said its mystery; 
Which quaintly sang in elden verse 
"Thy love I'll be." 

And oft it said : " I love thee true, 

Sir Ewain, champion of the fair." 
And never wist he what a witch 
Was that one there. 



160 A MABINOGI. 

And never wist he that a witch 

Had bound him with her wily hair, 
Eke with dark art had ta'en his heart 
To slay him there. 

And all his soul did wax amort 

To stars, to hills, to slades, to streams, 
And it but held that sorceress fair 
As one of dreams. 

And now he kens some castle gray 
Wild turrets ivied, in the moon, 
Old, where through woodlands foaming on 
A torrent shone. . . . 

In its high hall full twenty knights 

With visors barred all sternly stand ; 
The following of some gracious brave, 
Lord of the land. 

And lo ! when that dim damosel 

Moved down the hall, they louted low ; 
And she was queen of all that band, 
That dame of snow. 

Now on that knight she stared eftsoons, 
And cried on high unto her crew, 
" Behold ! Sir Knights, the dastard brave 
Your king that slew." 



A MABINOGI. l6l 

And all those heathen knights wox wild 

Attonce ; and all against him drave ; 
Long battle blades and daggers bright 
Aloft did wave. 

The press on him puissant bare 

And smote him to the rush-strown earth ; — 
Tall, tall o'er all that Fairy rose 
Aloud with mirth. 



M 



w 



GENIUS LOCI. 
I. 

HAT deity for dozing laziness 
Devised the lounging coziness of this 

Enchanted nook ? — and how ! — did I distress 
His musing ease that fled but now, or his 

Laughed frolic with some forest-sister, fair 

As those wild hill-carnations are and rare ? 

Too true, alas ! — Feel ! the wild moss is warm 
And moist with late reclining, as the palm 
Of what hot Hamadryad, who, a-nap, 

Props her hale cheek upon it, while her arm 
Weak wind-flowers bury ; in her hair the balm 
Of a whole Spring of blossoms and of sap ? 

II. 
See, how the dented moss, that pads the hump 

Of these distorted roots, elastic springs 
From that god's late departure ; lump by lump, 

Pale tufts impressed twitch loose in nervous rings, 
As crowding stars qualm thro' gray evening skies. 
Indulgence grant thou my profane surprise, 



GENIUS LOCI. 



163 



Pray! — then to dream where thou didst dream before, 
Benevolent ! . . . here where the veiny leaves 
Bask broad the fuzzy bosoms of their hands 

O'er wistful waters : 'neath this sycamore, 

Smooth, giraffe-brindled, where each ripple weaves 
A twinkling quiver as of marching bands 

III. 

Of Elfin chivalry, that, helmed with gold, 

Split spilled the scaley sunbeams wrinkled off. 
What brought thee here ? — This wind that steals the old 

Weird legends from the forests, with a scoff 
To laugh them thro' their beards ? Or, in those weeds, 
The hermit brook so busy with his beads ? — 
How many Aves, Paters doth he say 

In one droned minute on his rosary 

Of bubbles — wot'st thou ? — Pucker-eyed didst mark 
Yon lank hag-tapers, yellow by yon way, 

A haggard company of seven ? — See 

How dry swim by such curled brown bits of bark ? 

IV. 
Didst mark the ghostly gold of this grave, still, 

Conceited minnow thro' these twisted roots, 
Thrust o'er the smoky topaz of this rill, 

Dull-slumbering here ? Or did those insect flutes — 



164 GENIUS LOCI. 

Sleepy with sunshine — buzz thee that forlorn 

Tale of Tithonus and the bashful Morn ? 

Until two tears gleamed in the stealing stream 
Trembling its polish o'er the winking grail ? — 
Nay ! didst perplex thee with some poet plan 

To drug this air with beauty to make dream, — 
Ah, discreet Cunning, watching in yon vale ! — 
Me, wildwood-wandered from the marts of Man ! 



